Keep Moving
by annanovella
Summary: Bella moves to a new city in hopes to find out who she really is, leave behind who she hopes to forget and meet someone she never expected.
1. See Me

I needed a latte. There were very few things that could help me make it through a day of unruly teenagers battling me tooth and nail for the deeper meaning of The Scarlet Letter. Caffeine was my only option now. I rubbed my eyes, trying to bring the focus of the menu overhead into sight while Ernie stared at me expectantly.

"What'll it be, Bells?"

"Vanilla….gah, Caramel. Is it raining?" I asked, turning to look out the windows of the coffee shop hesitantly. Rain meant Caramel. Caramel gave me a certain current of warmth that ran from my tongue to the very tips of my toes on even the coldest days. In London in the fall those were more common than not and I wasn't about to risk my day's happiness on the wrong flavor.

"Caramel," I said definitively with a nod. Ernie gazed at me over the edge of the counter, fingers braced on the glass top. I could make out the twenty different flavored muffins him and Emma offered throughout the week beneath, fresh from the oven.

"This is gonna be one of those days when I make your drink and you get half way down the sidewalk and come tearing back because it's just not right, ain't it?" he asks, one eyebrow cocked.

"Ernie, I'm going to be late. Please, please, please, for the love of all that is holy, make the latte. Save my soul," I pleaded. He smiled and turned to the back counter.

I turned back to my bag, digging for my change purse. Four highlighters, a handful of bobby pins and one chapstick later I came up with the note I was looking for and slid it across the counter as he handed me my steaming disposable cup.

"I need the"-

"Sleeve," he finished, popping the cup beneath the folds of the cardboard.

"And a"-

"Lid," he smiled, pressing it firmly in place.

"How do I make it through a day without you?" I asked to which his mustache played across his lips in a smile.

"You picking up the dogs are five thirty?" he asked as I pushed my way towards the door.

Walking backwards I struggled with my cups and bag, pulling the hood of my wool coat over my head. I felt the edge of my too big rubber boots catch on the edge of the chair and fell directly into it, my butt landing with a thud on it's hard wooden surface. I looked up in time to see Ernie shaking his head and wiping the counters as he walked away.

"I'll be here after school…promise!" I called. I detangled myself from the legs of the chair and pushed out the door, the familiar chime of the bell ringing out behind me.

Puddles were beginning to swell on the sidewalk and while the adult in me said to avoid them at all costs so that the hems of my pants wouldn't get caught in the sludge, there was the nagging in the back of my head to get crazy. I put one boot out tentatively, letting the splash hit my legs with an unexpected ripple. I was now wet up to my knees. Fantastic

"That's a good look for you," Alice called, coming up behind me. I hadn't heard her in my struggles as she danced her way across the street from our flat. She held the handle of a black umbrella smoothly in one hand overhead while in the other balanced her clutch. Tied snuggly at her waist was the red peacoat she loved so much, cinched with a belt and on her head, atop perfectly coifed and shiny hair sat the matching white beret. She was a picture of European elegance. I was the picture of "Got up late, had no clean socks, my cat slept on my sweater." Some things just weren't fair.

"I don't have time to change," I said, hesitating on the sidewalk.

"I have an extra skirt in my work locker," Alice offered to which I scoffed lovingly.

"Why thank you, size 0 and five foot nothing but I think, perhaps, that might not work out so well."

"So you show a little thigh. What's high school without the hot English teacher to liven things up?"

"It's not that noticeable, right?" I asked, kicking out my leg. Grey pants met brown liquid at my knee.

"Um…it's fine…" she answered, cocking her head to one side.

"Oh whatever. Who am I trying to impress?" I asked, taking a sip of my coffee. Something wasn't right. Maybe today wasn't a caramel day. Maybe I needed Hazelnut or Cinnamon…I'll bet Ernie wouldn't be THAT angry if I went back and just asked…

"Hello?" Alice called, snapping her delicate white fingers in front of my face. I focused as we walked, taking in her dark lined eyes and rose bud lips, staring at me harshly.

"Sorry, what?" I asked. She held the umbrella over our heads as we walked quickly past the grocers and the corner pub, Seville's.

"I asked if you had time to change before work tonight," she repeated herself, exasperated.

"Yeah…I have those classes after school today and then the dogs for about an hour but I go home for some dinner, which reminds me, there are some pork chops in the freezer that I need you to take out when you get back if you want them with that cream sauce"-

"Bella," she laughed, holding up a hand. We had reached the corner where she went in one direction towards her job and I walked the two more blocks towards the high school.

"Breathe," she smiled. I inhaled. Got a few water droplets from the rain up my nose, coughed, exhaled. Her teeth glistened as she shook her head.

"You're a wreck," she smiled and extended her hand to smooth the hair from my face.

"I'll take out the pork chops and iron your pants," she said before I could protest. Only Alice would think that black work pants that were only going to end up with pints of Guinness on them by the end of the night would need ironing. I knew better than to protest.

"You're my savior. Have a good day at work," I called, stepping out onto the street. I dodged a red car speeding along the cobble stone drive by a hair and when I turned back she was still there, watching, shaking her head at me.

I reached the school with a few minutes to spare before first bell. As a teacher I'm supposed to be here a good hour before the students to prepare lesson plans and organize the classroom but it never works out that way exactly. Not that it matters. At East End School there are approximately thirteen other teachers, all of which average in age around 65. That's the average. I won't even ask Mr. Poole how old he is because frankly, I think asking would jinx the situation. While they all spend the early morning hours huddled around the coffee pot and gas heater in the teacher's lounge due to the school's poor funding for better facilities throughout the building, I prefer to spend the time in my classroom.

After only a few weeks of realizing that getting to school super early straight up sucked, I opted for sleeping in and Ernie's coffee which works out better for everyone anyway. They don't have to pretend to be interested in the poorly dressed wrinkled girl who can't seem to find a hair brush and I don't have to watch the seven stages of my future loom before me, sipping weak brew. Old, older, moldy. Grey, greyer, Mrs. Heath is practically bald. I swear to God if I'm still a single English teacher when I'm 30, working in this run down building while Alice comes around every now and then to continue ironing my pants and see if I'm alive, I'm cut and running. Taking up scuba instructions in Australia. Leaving my life behind.

My classroom was busting by the time I threw my bags into the corner chair, the old seat I brought from home with the claw marks from a cat and pink throw pillows that didn't exactly match it's embroidered green covering. It's my favorite thing about the classroom, apart from the desks that are still screwed into the floor and have carvings of past students right into the tops. "Bridget was here" followed by a different hand that wrote "Bridget's a queer". Kids.

"Ms. Swann, I finished it," Ben called from the back of the classroom. His black locks flopped across his forehead from the rain as he held a paperback in the air. "Fantastic. What'd you think?" I asked, grabbing some chalk. I could hear the fumble of shoes and voices dulling as the students began to take their seats. I wrote The Scarlet Letter is big, child like handwriting across the board, tugging on my own wet hair as it stuck to my face. Invest in an umbrella, Bella. A rain slicker. A tarp, Christ, whatever.

"It was boring," he said, no holds barred and I couldn't help but chuckle.

"It wasn't boring, it was romantic," Jessica purred from the front row. She flipped her honey brown curls from her shoulder as she turned to face me, her hands placed delicately across the desk.

"What part was romantic, exactly?" I asked, pulling out my own worn copy and sliding across my desk top. "The part where they jail her for having a child out of wedlock or the part where Dimmesdale refuses to acknowledge that the child is his and allows her to suffer alone?" I asked, only the slightest trace of bitterness lacing my tongue. Jessica faltered, her lips turning down at the corners.

"She didn't want him to tell. She didn't want him to suffer. I think it's a very noble thing to do, especially for a man like Dimmesdale. He was a man of the church…people depended on him to make the right decisions."

"That's not a bad point…any rebuttals?" I called out. It was a rare day when anyone challenged the brains of Jessica Stanley and her combination of skimming the chapters assigned and finding what critics of the story had to say about it online through a study guide. I'd called her on it on more than one occasion in the past but just wasn't feeling up to it today.

The class waged their own war for the remainder of the hour, half finding the story romantic while the other half seethed about the unfairness that is womanhood. You can imagine on which side I stood during all this, though for the large part I try to remain unbiased.

As the day pushed on, I could see through my total of two classroom windows that the rain wasn't letting up anytime soon. Students slowed down in the afternoon and we settled for quiet reading and writing rather than lecture and group discussion. One of my favorite students, Angela sat curled up in the big green chair with my copy of The Time Traveler's Wife during AP level ten English. While it wasn't the assigned reading I knew she was already way ahead of the class and couldn't help but watch her. Feet curled beneath her, shoes strewn on the floor for the sake of being comfortable, I envied her for a moment.

Her boyfriend Ben would be waiting for her at the end of the day outside my room, like he was most everyday and they would leave hand in hand to do their homework and kiss in front of the television at home. Be happy, content kids while I fought a chocolate lab and german shepard in the rain over which places were appropriate or not to dookie on. Helped large, drunk men find their way to cabs at two in the morning after last call. Straighten up the mess that is Alice's wardrobe, stretching from her doorway to the very edges of our kitchen before I went to bed that night, only to wake up after five very short hours and do it all again. What I wouldn't give to curl up with a book if for only an hour a day, forgetting all of it. Forget that I was constantly wishing for something more without realizing what it was exactly I was missing.

Suddenly, the bell rang, snapping me back to reality. Angela slid her tiny feet back into the oversized boots she wore to face the weather that day and kids slapped their hands on my desk as they meandered out of the classroom, saying goodbyes to me. I hadn't remembered to tell them to update their journals over the weekend or begin the chapters on Beowulf in the text.

Sluggishly I gathered my books to my chest and wrapped my cream, hand knit scarf around my neck. A gift from my father's girlfriend, Sue Clearwater back home for the winter. It smelled like soap and sandalwood, the way my house started to smell ever since she had moved in with Charlie last spring. She began putting dishes of potpourri on the backs of toilet seats and folding the corners of the toilet paper on the holder in between uses. It was adorable. Charlie walked around, oblivious to all of it except the fact that his uniform was looking a little neater these days, what with being hung up in a closet rather than draped across the back of a chair most nights.

I took a deep whiff of the scarf again, holding it to my mouth. I missed home. I missed Forks and my room and the new smell of our house and the way Sue made fish fry taste more like chicken and less like fish and steamed vegetables with it so it was even the slightest bit healthier for my dad because she just cared that much. I missed a boy and his dark eyes and hair and the warm touch of his lips on mine at the end of a long day of school. I missed them so much I shook my head to stop the smells and sounds that could come rushing at me at a moments notice. I flipped the scarf around my neck once more, pulled my coat on tightly and picked up my belongings.

After school I volunteered in the afternoons to help with the enrichment classes for the lower level students. Most days that just involved helping pass out chalk and drawing pencils in Sketching classes or finding matching pairs of clogs for Step Dancing classes taught by Mrs. March. Let me be the first to say that a six year old boy in mismatched clogs is some funny shit but the enrichment teachers never find it as funny as you do and it's best just to help where needed. Today it was bird feeder making with peanut butter and pinecones.

Ah, old school science, how I missed you. I forgot how simply easy you could be and that with a handful of seeds in one palm I never had to recite the rules for conjunctions in a sentence or phrase. I helped a small girl named Lucy roll her seeded pine cone for the majority of the hour while she talked adorably without her two front teeth.

"Thith ith the way we do ith for the births."

Luthy's Lithp lit up my day.

I rounded the neighborhood for the dogs at four pm exactly and half walked, half ran with them in clenched fists around my neighborhood, pockets full of plastic bags for duty as we went. Butts were sniffed, people were barked at, I was embarrassed continually the entire hour it took. Still, it's worth it to me when Baxter and I are the only ones left at the end of the route. He's a beagle, almost eleven years old and much calmer than the rest. I save carrots for him in my pocket because whoever said dogs don't need their daily allotted vegetables quota met is just plain nuts. He loves him some carrots too, munches loudly the rest of the way to his house and doesn't try and lick my teeth when I plant a goodbye kiss on the top of his head, handing his leash back to his owner.

At home I grab a sandwich, toss Alice's delicates into the wash with the lavender fabric softener she likes so much and leave her a note on the fridge, thanking her for leaving out the chops after work. She'll be out with her boyfriend, Jazz, for the remainder of the night but we'll have them tomorrow night before my shift at Seville's. I find my pants, perfectly pressed across my comforter and slide into them as well as a green fitted button down long sleeve. I pull my hair, a wild crinkled mess from the rain today into four bobby pins on top my head and out of my eyes. Attractive? God, no. Functional? I will survive the night as long as The Big Boys from Knightsbridge aren't in tonight for a game. They're the rowdiest and while they tip well it almost isn't worth the hastle after a day like today.

I find my black flats and jacket, make sure the delicates have made it into the dryer and slip out the door, bag slung over my shoulder as I go.

Today, tonight, tomorrow. Today, tonight, tomorrow. Keep moving, Bella. Keep moving so your mind won't have to.


	2. Seville's

I stepped into Seville's at 7 sharp, the beginning of our dinner rush. Through the familiar dim lights I can make out Carlise behind the bar and his wife, Esme rinsing pint glasses in the sink to his right. With the amber lights over head I can see his blonde hair tousling lightly as he bends over the bar, lining up the bottles for the night. As Esme walks past he reaches out and touches her back, almost unconsciously, not bothering to look up as he did so.

I've never seen two people so intune to one another like Carlise and Esme. He told me when I first started working here, about three months ago that even on their busiest night he would know where she was instantly without thinking. I tried it once on a game night, the bar heavy with those watching the flat screen above the fireplace. Carlisle was elbows deep in the ice box because the machine had stopped working, had two servers screaming for him about a brawl in the men's bathroom. With a tray on my shoulder and a quick glance at our shortage, despite the fact that he was busy I still called out in a panic to him, "Esme?!"

He didn't look up. His foot lunged back to help him get a better stance as he ripped the largest hunk of ice from the bottom and said loud enough for me to hear, "Ladies loo, third stall. Someone wrote something plain awful on the wall, she's trying to get it rubbed out."

Insane jealousy tore through my chest at that moment. It used to be that way with us. It used to be that in the middle of the afternoon I could walk in the door and smell him everywhere and know, just instinctively, that he was out back working on my truck or in town digging through the grocery store for something for dinner. I would know from the way the dishes were left on the counter or if his boots had left prints on the front walk if it had a been a good day or a bad day. Open curtains meant he got enough sleep the night before. Milk on the counter told me he left in a hurry, probably to meet Quil or Embry or help his father with some chores.

I spent the rest of the night watching them after that moment. Him knowing her and her knowing him the exact same way. Touching as they walked by, throwing smiles at the same time from across the crowded room. So cliché. So absolutely perfect.

I didn't smile a lot that night like normal. Didn't enjoy the roar of the crowd or show off my new bottle opening skills Carlisle had shown me against the bar. I kept to myself. Watching complacently, wishing despairingly.

I was used to it by now. I threw my bag in the back and tossed my coat in the room near the kitchen as I meandered toward the hostess stand. Half full already and we were just getting started.

Carlisle and Esme had inherited Seville's from Carlisle's father almost ten years ago, at an obviously young age, as they couldn't be older than thirty now. While he refused to change the atmosphere from the way his father kept it, dark and aged with rich woods and low lighting, the crowd had certainly shifted with time. Regular customers still come early most nights, the older men who grab a beer after work. Around nine, as they filter out and home after dinner the younger crowd comes in. He added a stage in the back and when there's not a game on Carlisle lights it up and lets the customers have free reign of the instruments. A piano, older than his father, sits in the far corner as well as a standing bass. He's been lucky so far that with the drinking and crowds nothings been broken. They seem to respect him and the facility. They all know Carlisle and Esme by first name.

I step behind the bar and finish putting the glasses up as Esme dries. Noticing me, she throws a soft smile as we work, though doesn't say anything. It's nice like that with her. Doesn't always have to be talking to know when I'm a little too tired to talk. She straightens the apron resting on her hips, touches Carlisle's waist as she walks past and heads to the kitchen to check on the runners. Dinner is done being served in an hour.

I hit my first table, note pad in hand. Two middle aged men are sipping from ale mugs, the last of their drinks swilling at the bottom.

"Gentlemen, I'll be taking over for Kat from here. Anything else I can get you?" I ask. They both shake their heads, too deep in conversation to really acknowledge what I'm asking and I place the tab Kat left me on the edge of their mat.

I bring two girls about my age another round of dirty martinis and clear the plates from Eli's usual booth. Club sandwich and Esme's Potato Soup. Same thing every night, same three bites left of the crust in the corner. He thanks me warmly and leaves a note as my tip which I shove hastily into my apron pocket. Between tonight's weekend crowd and what I made in dog money this week I'll be able to get that coat I've been eyeing for a month now. The coat Alice has been insisting she'd just buy me but I can't let her. She buys me too much as it is to add to my ever depleting wardrobe.

The night picks up before I know what's happened. The hostess, a new girl I don't really talk to often, keeps my tables full with those requesting my section and my arms are full within moments of bottles and empty glasses. I spot James and his friends at a table near the center of the room and make my way over.

"Are you cheating on me?" I ask coyly, with a smile and he looks up.

James is a fox, straight up. Between his devilishly adorable British accent and those eyes that flash in the dark of a crowded room, I am so head over heels it's sick. Alice doesn't like him. She claims any business man who keeps a pony tail with a suit is scum. Pony tail aside, he charms the socks off of me on a weekly basis when he comes in for a drink with friends. I can't bring myself to ask him more than "Do you want chips with that?" during the dinner hour, but still….a girl can dream.

His grin widens as he extends a hand and pulls me onto his lap, the place I usually am when he places an order. He turns to his friends as I take the total number of drinks on my pad.

"Bells, these are some friends from out of town. Friends, this is the best waitress in the entire city of London. Get ready for a good time," he calls to them and I can't help but blush. God, I'm such a 'tard. So obviously into him while his friends extend hello's.

"So that's four pints then?" I ask, turning to him. From this close I can see the flecks of almost gold in his eyes. I melt for those eyes.

"Too good for my section?" I ask and he chuckles, tossing eyes at the front door.

"I told that wench at the door but she said you were full. You'll take care of me, love, won't you?" he asks and his lips turn up in a hopeful smile.

"I'll- I'll tell Amy you're mine," I reassure him and like warm butter, melt as he runs a hand along my back in thanks.

"Of course you will, sweetheart." My cheeks are full on red now, I can feel it and from the mere touch of him I'm sweating through my shirt at the armpits. It's time to depart before I begin to weep.

I drop his order at the bar and grab the cocktail waiting for my next table as I do so. Swinging round I grab a handful of napkins from a stack, lifting the tray in my hands over heads as I walk past. Working here is a greater balancing act than ballet and while on a daily basis I've been known to almost sever most of my fingers simply because I'm that accident prone, I've seemed to perfect that art that is waitressing quickly. I like the busy feel of the place. It distracts me, it always keeps me moving and it's hard to drop a tray of pasta when I know the end result will be angry customers, angry bus boys and a disappointed Carlisle, who would never yell at me anyway. That only happened once. Never again, kids, never again.

As I drop off James' table's drinks, and he throws me a wink that causes me to trip into Esme as she walks by, I spot Emmett coming out of the storage room. Emmett is Carlise and Esme's nephew from the states, like Alice and myself. Working for them most nights as a bouncer and helping hand, he spends the majority of his days avoiding his school work and playing video games. Emmett is the perpetual student and lazy ass in disguise as a hulking Neanderthal, with the heart of a teddy bear. Confused? So was I when I first met him. Two conversations later it didn't take a lot to figure out just how simple Emmett really is.

In his left arm is a small, round table, the kind that sits taller than most for the front window and in the other arm are two stools. He calls to me as he walks past, gesturing as he does so.

"Bells, these are going in your section."

"What? I'm full up," I call back, looking to the crowd. A party of twelve sat down not half an hour ago and are already in need of refills.

"Carlise insists they go to you."

"I'm telling you, there's no room. I'm at limit!" I try as he gets further away.

"Well we're making room. Special customers," he says, with emphasis on the special. It's enough to pique my interest and I stop where I stand, my table's drinks hovering in my hands above them.

"Are we expecting the president?"

"Close. A Cullen," is all he answers. Cullen? Carlise's family?

I don't have to wonder for very long. I can see them standing at the front door.

Her, with blonde locks passed her shoulders and lips so red you'd swear they were on fire. She pulls the sleeves of her coat off to reveal the black dress she wears underneath and the stockings beneath the slit at her thigh. She's a goddess in black satin as she kisses Esme hello on both cheeks, draping her coat over her arm. I have no clue who she is but I want her hair. And her body. Hell, give me the whole package.

To her left, hovering in the doorway I can see a resemblance that's not in the girl's face. Emmett's shining eyes and the strong jaw, a grey coat fitted over a smaller frame. Still, it's obvious. The bored expression, the tired eyes, the drawn mouth and a mere wave in Esme's direction.

I've heard the stories. I know in a heartbeat who he is.

The infamous.

The overachiever.

The bane of Emmett's existence.

His older brother, Edward Cullen.


	3. The Many Hobbies of Bella

My gawking is cut short as the woman standing in front of me shrieks. The cherry from her Manhattan has landed squarely on her table and the liquid is dribbling from my hands, over the rim of the glass.

"Sorry, sorry, here," I say, blotting it up with my towel quickly. She glares at me anyway, rolling her eyes to the woman she sits with. Well, they didn't look like big tippers to begin with.

By the time I look up Emmett has the table pushed up against the front window, the stools in place and the mystery couple has taken their seats. The woman looks around eagerly, talking as she points out people while Edward…or, whom I'm assuming is Edward, simply nods while removing his coat. He looks exhausted and sullen while her face lights up when Carlisle and Esme approach them. It will only be a matter of time before they're waving me over anyway, so I bite my lips, take a deep breath in and head their way. Carlisle spots me and extends an arm, pulling me to his side.

"Rosalie, Edward…meet Bella. She's new to our wait staff, she'll be taking care of you this evening."

"Bella, lovely to meet you," Rosalie says and offers her porcelain hand. Rounded red nails close around my own small fingers as I shake it. I turn to Edward who also takes my fingers into his own. His shake it quick, soft, hesitant to even grab a hold and I retract my fist quickly. He doesn't even raise his eyes to meet mine.

"Bella, I would love to start with a white wine, please," Rosalie trills, stealing my attention.

"Of course…what can I get you?" I ask, turning to him. He looks up for the first time and his eyes are so dark it's almost mesmerizing. Perhaps green, maybe hazel, I can't quite tell in this light.

"Whatever's on tap," is all he mumbles. I look to Carlisle who gives me a pointed smile. Apparently, we're trying to ignore Captain Cranky here. Bring the boy his beer, is all that smile says. I shrug and head towards the bar. As I lean over the rail and shout my order to the bartender on staff I notice Emmett is actually right behind me.

"Whoa, space," I laugh, pushing against his chest. I can see his eyes are tense, his nostrils flaring as he stands, staring into the space behind me.

"Are you breathing?" I ask tentatively and he looks into my eyes.

"Just…wasn't expecting him. That's all."

"He doesn't look that bad, Em. Kind of quiet…definitely not a talker," I shrug, trying to gaze over his shoulder as I take Edward in. He runs his hands through his hair, most of it falling back in place across his forehead. Rosalie is still talking animatedly to Esme, hands moving frantically as she does so.

"Who's the babe?" I ask and Emmett shrugs once, glancing over his shoulder.

"Someone he works with I guess."

"Not his girlfriend?" I ask.

"Please. Edward hasn't had a girlfriend since high school. He doesn't have time to date."

"Why? What's his deal?"

"Oh, please don't tell me you like him already," he sighs and rolls his eyes. I grab the drinks placed on the bar behind me and throw Emmett a disgusted look.

"Excuse you, I'm just making small talk. Second of all, you've already made it clear to me in not so many words that Edward is an asshole so no…I think we're safe to say I don't like him already. Lastly, you're pouting. Actually…pouting. Look at that lip," I try and laugh, pressing my pinky to Emmett's protruding lip and he chuckles as I do so, embarrassed.

"Just…relax. So he showed up unexpectedly, so what? Relax, keep yourself busy. Before you know it the night will be over and they'll be going back to whatever hotel they're staying in."

"Oh, they're not staying together. Edward couldn't share a room with me as a kid, he's such a light sleeper. Likes his space too….hates movement or noise of any kind"-

"Um, have you seen her?" I ask and I pivot him so that we're both facing their direction. Edward's head is down, pulling on invisible lint from his shirt while Rosalie's hand comes to rest lightly on Esme's, her laughter clear and high despite the roar of the bar.

"He's staying with her," I confirm and Emmett tilts his head to one side.

"She is hot," he admits.

"Hot? Jesus, Emmett, she's the love child of Heidi Klum and Brad Pitt. Hugh Hefner's dream babe. Helen of Troy. Shall I continue?" I ask.

"I guarantee they're not dating," he says and I shrug as I walk away.

"All I'm saying…is I'd date her," I call.

I turn to the side to squeeze between Marge and Rhonda, a pair of older ladies who prefer the younger crowd. In America, I believe they're called 'cougars' but here, they're just plain hysterical. Marge squeezes my waist as I walk by and gives me a wink. What is it with older women? I've been groped more times by the girls in this joint than men in my entire life.

"One white wine, one pale ale," I say as I approach the table and slide the glasses to awaiting hands. Rosalie nods an acknowledgment and continues talking with Esme. Edward lifts his eyes for a moment to meet mine. Suddenly, a pair of strong hands are on my arm.

"Bella, you gonna get up there tonight?" It's James. How had I not seen him moving? Had I really been able to tear my eyes away from his table and awaiting glass long enough to not notice him meandering towards me? And now he's touching me?

"Oh, no, God…that was a one time performance. Thanks though," I laugh. James' smile grows wider as he releases my arm.

"It was amazing, you need to get up there tonight. My friend over there, Lou, he's in town for one night. An animal on the guitar, you tell him any song and I guarantee he'd play it no problem. You'd only have to sing…" he tries tempting me. I can feel the heat touch my face in all the wrong spots, beneath my eyes and the lobes of my ears.

"No, seriously, it's too crazy in here tonight," I laugh, waving my arms in front of me.

"That's a shame. Would have loved to hear that voice," he says. God, what is wrong with me? Why aren't I throwing myself up on that stage, letting him see what a carefree, fun girl I can be? Why not? Oh, that's right. Because one rendition of "I will always love you" after three too many tumblers of vodka and cranberry juice at James' table during a slow night does not make me a rockstar. I'll never live it down. Emmett still sings it whenever we run into each other in the kitchen getting clean trays.

"Maybe another time," I say and he nods.

"If you say so. Hey, we need another round if you could…" he says and I snap back to reality. Waitress Bella.

"Right, sorry, be right there," I answer. Idiot. That's probably what he wanted all along.

He heads back to his seat and I turn in place. To my surprise, Edward's head isn't down any longer, but staring at me wide eyed, as if he's been caught. I hadn't realized how close we had been standing to him this entire time we were talking, only an arms length away and I stumble to find the right words.

"You need anything else before I go?" I ask. He shakes his head quickly, glances away from me. Oh, so sorry to have bothered you, broody, with my annoying questions of polite service.

The evening takes off as I bring another round to James' table. I only end up with two beers spilled on me by the end of the evening, one of which was my own fault. Emmett came out of his bad mood long enough to drag Rosalie, who was a bit more entertaining than Edward to say the least, to the stage. He handed her a tambourine while him and some friends from school hit up a guitar and drums. She looked like she was having a blast while Edward watched quietly, emotionless from his seat. He never had more than the one beer the entire evening though I asked repeatedly if he wanted anything else.

By the time closing came around the only ones left were Carlisle and Esme, laughing with Rosalie and their table. Edward had disappeared at some point and Emmett was hovering close by to his empty chair, pulling on Rosalie's hair in a playful manner.

"You hit me WITH the tambourine," he called out and she threw her head back in laughter before protesting wildly.

"I didn't hit you with it, it slipped! I told you I haven't played an instrument since I was five!"

"I gave you one job. I said, Rose, can you bang this around for a bit and you said yes and the next thing I know Colin's sticks are on the ground and you're covering your mouth with that, "Oh shit" expression on your face. You hit me with it!"

"Alright, alright!" she laughs, slapping her hands on the table, "I hit you! It was an accident!"

"Accident, right…accident," he says. I watch as his eyes run over her face, streaked with tears from laughing so hard. He takes a napkin from the apron at his waist and hands it to her, letting his fingers brush over hers as he does so. There's no freaking way Emmett is hitting on Helen of Troy…is there?

"Well I'm glad you had such a wonderful time. I'm sorry, I would have loved to sit with you longer but on Friday's we just get a little crazy," Esme apologized. Rosalie shook her head, dabbing at the tears on her cheeks with Emmett's napkin.

"Nonsense, it was fantastic. This is really a wonderful place," she says.

"I hope Edward had a good time," Carlisle says, looking around the room.

"I think so," Rosalie supplies, "he said he was fine. He doesn't go out a lot. I keep trying to tell him it's ok have fun but I don't think he believes me," she laughs, shaking her head.

"Yeah, well, Edward was born with a giant stick up his"-

"Done with these?" I interrupt Emmett, stepping up to the table and taking Rosalie's empty glasses. I give him a pointed look as I do so and he rolls his eyes.

"Thank you," she nods.

"Bells, you can head out, we've got it from here," Carlisle says, glancing at his watch.

"You've got an early morning dear, don't you?" Esme asks and I shrug my shoulders, trying to seem indifferent.

"Not too early. I think the first one isn't until around ten a.m. so I can sleep in for a bit," I answer. "First what?" a voice asks and I jump where I stand.

He's right behind me, not a foot away and his voice was like smooth velvet in my ear, startling but sure. Edward reaches passed me from where he stands until his coat is in his hand and he begins pulling it on.

"Uh-uh-first…first wedding," I answer, searching for the right words. Sneaky bastard, I almost wet my pants.

"You're getting married?" he asks, sounding surprised.

"What? No. I'm shooting a wedding tomorrow," I say.

"Bella is a girl of many different…talents," Carlisle muses. I place a hand on my hip, letting the wine glasses swing from my opposite hand and give him a round-a-bout glare.

"Not talents. I just like…hobbies. Trying new things."

"You take pictures of weddings?" Edward asks for clarification.

"Tomorrow I do, yeah."

"More than one wedding?"

"Two, actually…the second one is at three. But in between I'm playing tennis with a neighbor."

"Tennis?" Emmett laughs and I glare at him.

"Relax, she's in a wheelchair, it won't be full-on tennis. I can't get hurt just batting a ball back and forth."

"Yeah, we'll see," he scoffs.

"And you sing too?" Edward asks, his voice light. The laughter ceases at his question and I turn to him quizzically.

"No," I answer, "I don't sing."

"Oh she can sing," Emmett is already laughing. Thankfully, one look from Esme is stopping him short. Edward's eyebrows are furrowed in thought as he begins to button up his jacket.

"I thought I heard that gentleman ask you to sing," he says.

"Well, yeah, he did but not seriously."

"So you sing…occasionally," he begins, fixing his collar, "and play tennis…terribly and shoot weddings…randomly?"

"I…guess," I answer. Well, this is going well. Suddenly, I feel stupid.

"She also is an expert dog walker," Carlisle supplies. Fantastic, thanks for that.

"Don't forget her real job, as a teacher," Esme supplies and I give her a grateful smile.

"You teach?" Edward asks.

"Yes. Upper level English."

"And you waitress at this bar at night?"

"Yes…"

"Every night?"

"The busy nights. Weekends, mostly. Game nights," I fumble. I look up to see Rosalie's lips are quirked in a smile. I have the attention of all five of them, their faces clearly amused the more Edward asks.

"She teaches enrichment classes," Emmett says suddenly.

"I don't teach them, I just volunteer"-

"She works at the used book store!" Esme cries out in delight, the thought suddenly occurring to her. Is this a game? The many hobbies of Bella?

"That's only on Wednesdays!" I try but am already one step behind Carlisle who is crying out my next greatest feat.

"On Sunday she cooks pot roast for her entire building."

"And cupcakes," Emmett adds.

"Mr. and Mrs. Denardis are very old, their kids won't let them even have a hot plate and also, there are only like six other families in my building, a pot roast is nothing"-

"She quilts," Esme says.

"And knits."

"And serves coffee when Ernie is short handed."

"My, my, Bella," Rosalie muses, touching her finger to her lips and I watch her eyes flutter from my head to my toes as she does so, "is there anything you can't do?"

I'm struck by this question. The fact of the matter is that there's plenty I can't do. Ninety percent of everything they just mentioned I'm terrible at, working here included. When I'm not late or dropping something or tripping over my own feet, I'm putting holes in a scarf or accidentally ripping pages from a book that doesn't belong to me. Breaking glasses that are part of Alice's stemware, bleaching a load of colors, writing in permanent marker on my dry erase board at school. Try something new, fail miserably, become the running joke at your night job.

"Plenty," I answer, slightly abashed. "There's plenty I can't do." I mumble my last words and turn quickly on my heel, narrowly avoiding Edward's towering figure behind me. Emmett has their attention now, regaling them with the story of the time I took up yoga. I knew the ending, it wasn't pretty, and I threw my apron across the bar in an attempt to escape before it hit the highlight.

Grabbing my coat from the back and my bag from the chair I tossed it into earlier I throw them both over my shoulder. Esme gives me a small smile and a wave from their seats and I notice Emmett has his arm slung over Rosalie's neck as he talks. She's laughing so hard her body is shaking and with it his arm bobs up and down. He doesn't seem to notice, just takes a step closer as his story continues and I push the door out in front of me, stepping into the cool night air.

I look down to make sure I have everything, missing a remaining puddle from the morning as I do so. My phone says 3 a.m. That's not terrible. Alice should be asleep by now and I don't have to start thinking about waking up until around eight tomorrow-

"Does he always get to you?"

I turn. He's like freaking Zorro, stepping out of the shadows, his coat pulled up high around his neck, not making a sound as he moves and I gasp from the scare.

"Are you really quiet and accidentally scare people or is that just your 'thing'?"

"I'm sorry," Edward says and I can see the slightest trace of a smile on his lips. The first all night. He steps forward and tosses something to the sidewalk, stepping on it with his toe. Cigarette. Gross.

"My brother," he continues, "does he always embarrass you like that?"

"Embarrass me?" I ask, pulling the sleeves of my coat onto my arms. "He didn't embarrass me."

"You seemed quite embarrassed." "I wasn't." I lift my chin the slightest hair. Who the hell is this dude?

"Well good," he answers, "because I was going to say that you shouldn't be."

"Well…I'm not," I respond.

I shrug and he stands perfectly still, gazing at me from the doorway. Neither of us move for several seconds until I finally look behind me towards the street, my awaiting flat, my cat that is leaving hair all over my pillow.

"Ok, well…have a good night," I finally mutter. He says nothing.

"Are you working here…tomorrow night, that is?" he asks. I think to myself quickly, trying to remember what my Saturday schedule for this week had looked like.

"Yeah, I think so. Probably," I answer.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he says. He gives a slight wave of his hand.

"This doesn't really strike me as your kind of place," I call out. His hand stops on the handle of the bar to go back inside and he turns back to me, hair falling across his forehead as he does so. He smirks only the slightest bit before shrugging his own shoulders and calling back to me.

"It doesn't seem like yours either." Then, he disappears.

I'm left standing on the sidewalk, the first few drops of rain from a new storm rolling through. I hug my coat tighter to myself, forcing the cold to stay away until I can make it inside.

Emmett's right. His brother Edward really is a know-it-all, asshole.


	4. The Assistant

When I arrive back at my place it's completely dark except for the lone bulb over the stove. I can see Alice's door is shut tight which means she made it back safely, more than like with Jasper and I head to my own room. Just as I predicted, Felix has claimed my pillow for his own and it takes everything I have to pry it from his claws.

I take off the work pants and slide between the sheets, not really caring about the work shirt. Much to Alice's dismay, I'll probably be wearing it tomorrow anyway with a pair of dirty jeans so sleeping in it doesn't make much of a difference. Sometime tomorrow I'll have to figure out how to get the bathroom clean between tennis and the weddings, my own laundry started so I have something to watch the kids in on Sunday. I need to hit the grocery store, leave a note for Mary at the bookstore to give her my hours for Wednesday…I need to make a grocery list…I need frosting for the cupcakes and those little liners you put in the pan…

Half an hour later as I'm still scribbling on a pad by the light of my night lamp, I hear the slightest knock and Alice's head peek in. She's in her little pink night gown and matching slippers. I swear, the girl would be ready for a Victoria's Secret covershoot at a second's notice. Seeing me awake, she smiles and closes the door behind her before she does a flying leap into the bed and buries herself beneath my covers.

"Where does Jasper think you are?" I ask as she snuggles up against my arm.

"Jasper is snoring like you would not believe. I couldn't sleep. How was work?"

"It was fine…busy…James was there."

"Of course he was. Did you give him the memo that pony tails are sooo 1994, much like Billy Ray Cyrus?"

"Leave his ponytail alone. We can't all have great guys like Jazz."

"Jazz is dreamy, isn't he?" she giggles and rubs her nose against my sleeve, pulling back suddenly. "Didn't you wear this to work?"

"Hey, you'll never guess who came in," I say, changing the subject. "Emmett's brother, Edward from home."

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" she asks me.

"I thought you'd heard Emmett complain about him before. Tall, thin, sulky."

"Oh! Over-achieving Edward, I think we have talked about him," she says and I nod.

"Yeah, well he showed up out of the blue with some Goddess. Seriously, you wouldn't believe how this chick looked."

"What happened? Did him and Emmett get into some kind of fist fight or something?"

"Nope, it was actually pretty calm. He had a beer, she got drunk off of white wine and sang with the band. Nothing terrible."

"Then why are you bringing him up?" she asks. I shoot her a quizzical look.

"I don't know…he was weird. Just thought I'd mention he was in town."

"Was he cute?"

"I couldn't tell beneath all the stony glares and all the hair."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, did he have a pony tail too?" she asks, exasperated and I laugh, burying myself lower so that our heads are touching as we look up to my ceiling. I feel like I'm in the fifth grade again with Alice most days. She brings out the kid in anyone pretty easily.

"No, no ponytail. Just a lot of untamed mess."

"I don't get British guys. Buy a razor for God's sake."

"He wasn't terrible looking."

"So he was cute, then?" she asks. I think for a moment quietly.

"He was kind of a punk, actually."

"How so?"

"He said the weirdest thing as I was leaving tonight. I told him I didn't think this was his kind of place and he said he didn't think it was mine either."

"He said that?"

"Yeah, can you believe it? He doesn't know me…how would he just assume that?"

"Well, I mean…come on, Bella. It's not your type of place."

"What are you talking about? I love Seville's," I argue, feeling a little hurt. Was she insinuating that I didn't fit in there? That I looked stupid working there compared to the other girls?

"I know you love working at Seville's, who wouldn't? Carlisle and Esme are great and it's like five feet from our home. But come on…if you were just hanging out one night on a weekend would you really go out to a place like that?" she asks.

"Seville's can be fun."

"Yeah but you…would you go there?"

"I probably wouldn't go anywhere."

"Exactly. You love pajamas…dirty pajamas I might add….and movies and books and hot chocolate. You don't like to go out drinking and singing karaoke with strangers. You like home. It's not your type of place."

"Well it was really freaking presumptuous of him to say that," I argue pointedly.

"Didn't you say it to him first?" she asks lightly.

"Excuse you, who's side are you on?" I ask, poking and I hear her light giggle as she squirms away.

"He sounds intriguing. What are his plans while he's here?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask. I was busy most of the night."

"With Captain Pony Tail?"

"Don't you have a boyfriend in a bed waiting for you somewhere?" I ask her. I hear her heavy sigh as she sits up, pulling the covers with her.

"Get some sleep," she smiles at me from the doorway with a wave and just as quietly as she arrived, she disappears into the dark.

I pick my list back up from its resting place, checking through the items once more. Confectionary sugar…we're almost out of that completely…and I see his face out of the blue. Furrowed brows and tired eyes. That small smile in the light of the bar as we were leaving. How was it possible that as easily as I read him, he was able to read me? How did he know that if given the choice…scratch that…given the ability to turn off my mind, I would choose to stay home any night rather than go out and get trashed with strangers? I'd choose a glass of wine and a movie with Alice over Jaeger bombs with co-workers…that I'm waiting to find someone to sit at home and have a beer with on the couch and it doesn't matter if there's nothing on tv because really, we'd just want to make out and fall asleep in one another's arms anyway? What I wouldn't give for James to look at me one night from his table and ask if I wanted to get out of there to be alone and I would in a second because…one on one is always better than groups.

I wake up with the list half in my mouth, face planted down across my mattress. I'm still clutching the pencil. There's frantic knocking at my door and I grumble in response.

"Aren't you supposed to be doing something?" Alice calls to me from behind it.

"Eh?" I ask, still not quite in the game.

"I don't know, you're always doing something. Aren't you supposed to be somewhere? It's 9:30!" she cries. 9:30. 9:30?

Oh good lord, the Heighman wedding is in half an hour half way across town. There's no freaking way.

I fly out of bed, finding the dirty pair of jeans I was planning on wearing beneath Felix, of course, on the floor. He's less than pleased with me at this was well and I glance in the mirror to take inventory of the mess that is my unshowered, disheveled and exhausted self. Well look at that…pencil smudged face. Wonderful.

I tear out my bedroom door and see Jazz and Alice sitting at the kitchen table. I run to the bathroom and wipe my cheek off with wet toilet paper, grab a hair tie and chapstick as well as my bag from the coffee table. Running past Alice, her arm extends. Portable mug, brimming with coffee, so much cream it looks more like milk than anything else. Just the way I like it.

"I love you, thank you, hi Jasper!" I call. I don't wait for a response. I'm down the stairs of our building and out the front door, waving at the doorman. Ernie is in front of the café across the street and he waves to me.

"Ernie! Fastest way to Oxford!" I yell.

"At this time on a Saturday? Flying," he calls back. That's not funny, old man.

"Any other suggestions?" I ask. It's times like these I wish my bike's front tire hasn't been flat since June or that I invested a little more time in learning my way around on the trains rather than just simply walking everywhere.

"Bella? Is that you?" another voice calls. Coming around the corner is Emmett, carrying large bags from the grocery store a few blocks down. Three steps behind him is Esme with a few bags of her own and to my surprise, Edward carrying a crate of oranges.

"She needs to get to Oxford," Ernie calls. Esme glances at her watch and even from across the street I can see the sigh.

"How much time do you have?"

"Oh you know…negative twenty minutes," I mumble. Standing on the sidewalk contemplating the impossibility of my feat is less than helpful. They cross, lugging their groceries with them and even with her arms full Esme leans forward to kiss me on the cheek. I don't really have time for small talk.

"I'm going to just take a train…I think….when I find the train…."I say out loud. I turn to the left and then right. I could have sworn one of the perks of our apartment was its close proximity to public transportation but maybe that meant a bus of some sort.

"Oh honey, that's nearly twenty miles away. Even by car you're looking at a good forty five minutes," Esme says, looking slightly dismayed.

"Forty five minutes? I'll miss the ceremony!" I cry.

"How were you planning to get there originally?" a voice asks. Edward, of course, the president of pointing out my obvious faults. How do I admit that my original planned involved waking up early enough to figure that out on my own and that's as far as planning had gotten?

"A taxi," I blurt out. Yeah, that sounds good.

"So call a taxi," he says.

"Right…a taxi…I'll just call a cab," I mumble, searching my bag for my phone. I don't know why I'm bothering to look. I can see exactly where it is on my night stand, clear as day in my head.

"She doesn't have time for that. Emmett, honey, go get the car and take her please," Esme says, repositioning the groceries on her hip, "I'll take those from you and get them back to the restaurant."

"I'm supposed to pick Rosalie up in like, half an hour for breakfast," he says, his face stricken.

"It's ok, really, I can call a cab"-

"Well I'd take you sweet heart but we're hosting a brunch at Seville's this morning for the neighborhood merchants. Ernie is even providing the coffee," she begins, looking to me, her face drawn.

"I can call Rose and cancel," Emmett offers, though his voice is slow with the suggestion.

"No, really, it's ok, I'll just head up to the flat and look up a cab company, it won't be"-

"I'll take you."

His offer is quick and quiet, so much so that none of us really register he's said anything until he's placing the crate of oranges at Esme's feet. Before I can protest Edward draws a phone from the depths of his coat pocket and turns his back to us. I look to Esme for confirmation of what's actually happening but she merely smiles, staring at Edward's back as he talks.

"Rose is on her way. Do you have everything you need?" he asks. I fumble, searching for the words.

"Yeah-yeah, I have my camera and everything. You really don't have"-

"We've only got a minute, her hotel isn't far. Let's get these groceries back to the restaurant," he interrupts me, looking to Esme. With that, she nods quickly and he scoops up what he's set down moments before. Emmett gives a quick wave, Esme wishes me luck and they disappear down the street and around the corner. I'm left alone, completely confused.

Three minutes pass and I almost have myself convinced they were never here at all, ready to go back inside and call a cab company myself, when I see him coming back around, a jog to his step. From the opposite end of the street a black car is coming slowly and pulls up to the curb. Rosalie, in a knee length black jacket steps from the driver's seat, a petite black, rounded heel hitting the cobble stone drive. Without so much as a nod to one another she gives a quick wave and walks towards Seville's while he slides in and looks to me expectantly.

"Oh, right. Me. Sorry." I mutter. Am I supposed to sit in the front or the back? I opt for front. Just because he's driving doesn't make him the chauffeur, does it?

"Where in Oxford are we going?" he asks, pulling from the curb. We take off at a speed much quicker than the one Rosalie approached in. Before I can get my bearings we're tearing out onto Stockwell drive.

"The…the Oxford Hotel, near Hyde Park," I answer, trying to get my bearings. I don't want to complain but he nearly hit an old woman in a walker seconds ago. I realize it's best to keep my head down and search through my bag for nothing in particular.

"Who's wedding is it?" he asks.

"Um…this couple I met at the coffee shop. At Ernie's, on my block."

"You're not friends with them?" he asks.

"Not close…I don't know…they bought my drink once when I forgot my wallet."

"And you felt that this was an appropriate way to make it up to them?" he laughs.

"No! I just, I don't know. They're nice and they told me one morning that they were having a hard time finding a photographer at a good price and I have a camera, so I offered," I explain.

"You're doing it for free?"

"They pay for the prints and my lunch," I answer.

"And then you have to go back home to play tennis," he adds.

"Yes."

"And then off to another wedding this afternoon…"

"Um…yes." He pauses. I turn to see his face in the silence and to my surprise, he's laughing quietly.

"Something entertaining about my day?"

"No, just…nothing."

"You're laughing."

"I'll stop." And he does. His face straightens, his lips into a firm line and he grips the wheel, concentrating once again on speeding along the interstate. I have no idea where we are or where we're going. Rather than watch him flying along the road, passing cars left and right, I grip my bag tighter to myself and sneak a peek at him from the corner of my eye.

He doesn't look any less tired than he did last night, though he does appear to be fresher. No longer in a stiff suit and pants I can see the outlines of sweater, blue and grey at his collar and jeans beneath the length of his coat. His hair is clean, pushed up and away from his face though still too long to stay there for the day. There's a slight stubble on his chin. He wears the costume of a man who's supposed to be more relaxed but just isn't quite there yet. It's almost comical, the stiff way his back leans away from the seat as he moves along.

"I hope this doesn't mess up your day," I try, unsure of what else to say.

"Mess up my day?"

"Yeah, I hope you didn't have other plans that this is…messing up."

"Not really."

Silence. So, he's not a talker. Fine…it just so happens I'm not a big talker either.

More silence. Well, this is stupid.

"What did you have planned today?"

"What did I have planned today?"

"Are you confused by my questions?" I snap and then, slap my hand over my mouth. He's frustrating Bella, doesn't mean you have to be rude. He chuckles, again to my surprise.

"Sorry…not a lot of people ask me my plans."

"Nobody cares?" I ask.

"No I just, don't talk to a lot of people."

"Wow. That's really depressing," I laugh.

"I'm a busy person. I don't have a lot of time for small talk."

"Are you sure that you don't have time?" I ask. He meets my eyes, taking his from the road for a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing. Just…that, well you had free time last night."

"And?"

"And you chose not to talk to anyone." He bites his lips in at this, though doesn't answer.

"Am I wrong?"

He swallows.

"Did I…cross the line?" I try again.

Still nothing.

"I'm sorry," I sigh, shaking my head. "That wasn't my place to say anything, I have no idea what you were doing last night or who you talked to or…or anything, really. Sorry, I have this problem where I open my big mouth and I don't even know what I'm talking"-

"Bella!" he laughs, suddenly.

"I also ramble, uncontrollably apparently, about nothing"-

"You're right," he says, simply, cutting me short. "You're right, I choose not to talk to people." He turns to look at me and I notice hat his eyes have softened, the slightest bit.

"I didn't want to talk to anyone yesterday and I was dreading this breakfast at Seville's this morning,"he continues. I can't think of anything to say. I see him relax into the back of his seat and his hands move from the top of the steering wheel to the bottom. Even his leg eases against the gas pedal and we slow in our pace a fraction of the speed. I don't know if I should be scared or grateful.

"People always want something," he continues, "in business or favors from my family or me, even…people talk a lot, about themselves and that's fine but I don't really ever have anything to say. It's like they're expecting me to say something great or profound or interesting and most of the time I'm just thinking about how I'd rather be anywhere but where I am talking to this person I don't know."

"…What do you they want from you?" I ask, afraid to interject.

"I don't know. My family has a lot of money and connections and I have the capability to help a lot of people within our enterprise and I would like to help them I just…I can't help everyone and sometimes maybe it's better to help no one at all."

"I'm sorry," I mumble, "I guess I don't understand. What do you do, exactly?"

He looks to me, a question playing on his eyes. "Carlisle hasn't spoken about our family?" he asks, clearly surprised.

"Um…Emmett goes to school, him and Esme run the bar…you're the brother who works a lot…that's about all we've covered really."

"I guess it's not all that interesting anyway."

"I'm still curious," I smile. He shakes his head with a laugh.

"Really, anything I tell you won't be important anyway. Cullen Enterprises. You can…google it."

We ride in silence again for several moments. Frankly, I'm stunned at the outburst that poured from his lips only moments before. In particular, the part where he's always thinking he'd rather be anywhere but where he is that moment, talking to someone he doesn't know. Kind of like now, here, in the car with me today. I feel terrible. He could be back at his hotel, hiding out, watching television or relaxing or anything really and instead he's forced to drive some stranger across the city for the sake of a family member…for the sake of doing a favor. One more person, asking him for something. Suddenly, I'm not so curious. I don't actually want to talk anymore.

He doesn't attempt any conversation either and after a short while, I can see Hyde Park looming in the distance. "Not bad timing…" he says, and he leans forward. On the grass, in front of the clubhouse I can see the wedding party posing for pictures along the stairs. The bride and groom are nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they haven't started yet.

"Weddings generally start a few minutes late, by rule," he says, as if he's reading my mind and pulls into a parking spot. I reach for the handle.

"I really appreciate you bringing me, really. Thank you." I step from the car. As I round the front of it I see he's also getting out.

"What…are you doing?" I ask slowly, reaching into my bag. The camera is there and I remove the lens, checking to be sure the film is in place.

"Well, I've come all this way," he says and he takes off his coat, placing it along his seat before closing the door behind him.

"You're staying?" I gawk.

"How else are you going to make it back in time for tennis?" he asks. Then, he removes his sweater. Beneath is a simple t-shirt, white and he slings the sweater over the crook of his elbow. The transformation is mind boggling. Stiff to slack Edward Cullen. He pushes his hand through his hair once and holds out his hand.

"Don't photographer's assistants usually carry the stuff?" he asks.

"Are you sure you want to stay for this? It's going to be really boring," I begin. He smiles, wider than I've seen, revealing brilliant white teeth. A little crooked on the bottom row. Weirdly, cute.

"It's the first time I've ever been allowed to volunteer…without being asked," he admits.

"You're going to be really bored," I try again.

"Just give me the bag, Bella," he sighs and then, his hand comes forward, sliding the bag from my shoulder. I wish, without knowing where it comes from, that I had remembered to brush my teeth this morning. I can't bring myself to meet his eyes. Instead, I let him take the bag.

"If you insist."

"Let's see these skills I've heard so much about," he smiles and I blush. Actually, freaking, blush like I did the other night with James. Because I'm just that easy. Because, really, I'm just that stupid.

I shake my head and we walk forward. Carrie, the bride, is waving at me from the entrance of the church and I run forward to apologize. She won't hear anything about it, she needs help with her veil and suddenly I'm leaving Edward in a circle of flower girls while I help to straighten her out. By the time I'm actually taking the photos, more candid than professional, he's stepped to the side completely. With his arms crossed he keeps my bag draped over his shoulder and watches us, laughing occasionally. I'm stuck between worrying about his boredom and doing the actual job.

However, I don't have to worry for long. Whenever I run out of film, before I get the chance to look up to ask, he's at my side with the next cartridge. Not hovering, never anxious or over eager. Simply shows up, little black canister in hand and he says nothing as my fingers fumble over the one I'm removing, hurrying to pass it to him. He takes it just as quickly and quietly and is gone. In the back of the church. To the right of the stairs out front. At a far table at the reception. Behind flowers, talking quietly to an old man I don't recognize. Always in the corner of my eye, but never meeting mine. He seems busier than I am actually. It's mind blowing.

I get a photo of the best man carrying the groom. The bridesmaids looking over their shoulders, the orange from the hems of their dresses not nearly as ugly as I imagined they would be when Carrie first described them to me. I get the bride dancing on the lawn with her father, both without shoes. If I ever get married, this is the way I would want to do it. No more than fifty people. No strangers, no obligatory visiting each and every table. The majority of the photos I take are of the couple together, the way it should be, rather than with the family and friends. Hands clasped no matter where they go.

I get a moment near around noon as the couple are cutting the cake for the perfect photo. Edward is kneeling to the right of the dance floor with the three flower girls. Looking slightly abashed, they're tucking orchids behind his ear while he laughs, their white dresses and orange ribbons twirling in excitement. It's adorable. It doesn't look at all like the Edward from the night before. It's not just the orchids. It's the smile. It's the way he bites his lips while they instruct him to tilt his head, laughing at the ridiculousness of it. I take a picture. Three more and then his eyes catch in the flash and he stands suddenly. More than embarrassed he hands the flowers back to the girls and point them in the opposite direction. I feel my cheeks tint as he catches my eye and look away. How did I end up here like this today? How did he end up here like this today?

Carrie and Hank thank me profusely as I'm leaving around 1. Edward is waiting by the car, leaning back and seeming to enjoy the sun. His eyes are closed as he leans against the door and I feel bad to interrupt his moment.

"Hey," I say quietly. He starts, smiles and stands straight.

"Ready to head back?"

"Yeah, I think we're done."

"Did you get your free lunch?" he asks.

"Yeah I got some cake," I laugh, holding out a plate. "Thought you might like some."

"It just so happens," he says, taking it from my hands, "that's the going rate for photography assistants these days."

We get in the car and without a word, he begins the drive back. I, again, can't think of a thing to say. There's so much I want to ask him. I sneak a peek. His head is resting against the back of his chair, one hand on the steering wheel. If he didn't blink I'd swear he was asleep.

That's the way we ride the rest of the way home. I take a chance and mess with the radio and he doesn't protest. I'm just getting comfortable, letting the warmth of the sun through the window play against my face and feel my lids growing heavy. Then, we slow to a stop and I see my building just outside my door. I sit up straight.

"Thank you. If I haven't said it enough."

"You have."

"Well, I mean it. You saved me today. I owe you."

"Just…don't let that picture get out and we'll be even," he smiles, pointing to my bag and I nod in agreement.

"Deal."

"Is your next wedding back in Oxford?" he asks and I shake my head.

"No, just around the corner, up here. It's an older couple, they're having it at the senior center. Nothing too extravagant."

"Then you won't be needing a ride." It's a statement, not a question.

"No, I'll be fine, thank you."

"Then I'll see you tonight at Seville's." Another statement.

"Yeah, I work tonight so…I'll be there." Obviously. Please stop talking. Close lips, before you say something stupid.

"Alright then, I'll see you there."

"Ok." Silence.

"You can…get out of the car if you'd like," he says. I jump, grabbing the handle and my bag.

"Sorry, God, going. Getting out of the car." And I do, practically tripping over my own feet and lurching myself over the curb. I slam the door behind me and steal a glance. He's shaking his head with a smile. I don't even wave. I just bolt for the door. All this time, I was sure it was just James' charming smile and soft hands along my sides on a busy night that could get me acting like an idiot. It's even worse than I thought. Obviously, I'm a pathetic loser. Obviously, any boy who pays me the least bit of attention I'll jump at. And quite obviously, to my utter dismay, I'm so transparent it's too embarrassing for words. Because Edward is a know-it-all and because I'm just this terrible at hiding my blushing cheeks and awkward ways, he knows I thought he was adorable all day long. Even more reason to completely avoid him tonight.


	5. Slowing Down

**A/N:** Thanks for the wonderful review hippyhappy, you made my morning.

Of course, everything belongs to Stephenie Meyers

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Mrs. Maise is asleep by the time I make it to her apartment. At first I was worried whether or not she was alive as I banged on her door incessantly. However, after a very stealthy maneuver and break in up a back trellis and onto her balcony, I found her sleeping peacefully on her couch, hearing aide resting on the coffee table. I left her a note and locked the door on my way out. I guess I could risk breaking bones while chasing a ball all over the back lawn another day.

I grabbed my grocery list as I raced into our flat. Alice and Jasper were nestled on the couch, enjoying the laziness that was their Saturday. She barely tore her eyes from the movie they were watching as I called hello and goodbye but Jasper asked how the wedding went, if I needed help with anything.

I shouldn't actually like Jasper as much as I do. Alice and him started dating, maybe, three days after we first arrived in the city. Walking to work one morning he claims he spotted her dancing across a busy avenue, completely oblivious to the people and traffic around her. At first he thought she was a child, due to her petite frame and bouncing hair, until she turned and he caught site of her striking face. Those dark eyes and full lips and before he knew what he was doing, he followed her the rest of the way to her building. As she went to the revolving doors she turned abruptly, face to face with him and asked whether he was going to get her phone number before she went inside or if he'd like to follow her the rest of the way up.

He asked. He called. They've been inseparable ever since.

I was horrified, to say the least, when she came home and told me about it that evening. What kind of creeper was this guy? Who follows someone he ORIGINALLY thinks is a child four blocks to their work? She simply took a small bite of her mushroom soup and put her glass to her lips, thinking about that question.

"He seemed…nice."

"Nice? Alice, he practically stalked you."

"He had a nice smile."

"Fantastic. I'll be sure to let the police know that when they find you in the Thames."

He came over the next night with daisies and while he looked kind, just as she described him, perhaps a little shy, I was still wary about letting them leave together. Instead, he invited me to come with them, clear out of the blue. I was there for the beginning, for the very first date. I was there when he ordered us pizza at the restaurant and kept our wine glasses full without being asked. He held her hand during the entire movie but never made me feel like the third wheel. He asked about my job and what I wanted to do while we were in the city. He introduced me to Ernie and the wonder that is his caramel latte on rainy days.

I think that's what I like most about Jazz. His eyes are obviously only for Alice, who walks around completely unaware of how lucky she has it. Not only is her boyfriend tall and adorable, with a great smile and a decent hair cut unlike so many men she encounters daily, but he was nice to me, no questions asked. On days he comes over and she hasn't made it back from work yet he helps put dinner together or fold the latest load of whites. He brings paperbacks that his mom leaves over his house because he knows I'm constantly trying to fill my shelves. He whistles to fill the silence when neither of us having anything to say. He's comfortable. He's great for Alice.

With my grocery list in hand I high tail it over to the store, stopping at Bee's Books to drop off a note for the schedule…I can make it in from 4:15 until 9 on Wednesday since I don't have to be to Seville's. Pot roast is on sale and I make sure to grab those gallon Ziploc bags for Alice. She has an obsession with her jewelry and never has enough bags to keep it in while burying it in the depths of our freezer. Alice is the type of girl who couldn't care less if she were living off of canned soup but would notice in a second if her opal earrings were missing from behind the ice cube trays. I think that's why we're so compatible as best friends and as roommates. I keep her fed and in clean clothing. She keeps me from chopping off my own fingers because they're so meticulously adorned with her favorite rings, I wouldn't want to risk the wrath of getting blood on them.

I make it home just in time unload the groceries, with a little assistance from Jazz who can't sit idly by on the couch and watch me jam things haphazardly into cupboards. I think he feels guilty that on most nights he eats my home cooking but doesn't have a lot of ways to contribute. I couldn't care less, actually. It makes me good to see someone full after a big meal and know that I was the one who created it.

"Ok, second wedding, I'll be home in between. Can you just throw these in the dryer for me?" I call to Alice as I jam my second load of colors into the wash. She waves a hand to me, too distracted by the television but know she gets the message.

Camera and my new rolls of film in hand I'm racing off, this time to the retirement center and I could kick myself for, once again, not remembering to pusha flipping toothbrush across the disgusting mess that is my mouth. I find a Mentos in the bottom of my bag. Beggars cannot be choosers, apparently.

Mildred and Fred and twenty of their closest, and oldest I might add, friends are waiting patiently for the ceremony to begin when I get there. It turns out the officiator, a gentleman who got his license online and is older than most of them combined, has fallen asleep in the bathroom and everyone was waiting for a volunteer to fetch him. Never a dull moment here at Golden Oaks.

Millie's one insistence when giving me the job was that absolutely no formal pictures be taken, so I refrain as best I can. I make sure to snap one of them kissing as they're pronounced husband and wife but most of my photographs consist of them cutting a rug on the dance floor. Fred has a particular fondness for "I like Big Butts" and insists the DJ play it twice. The photos, if you didn't know better, would represent a high school dance of senior citizens more than a wedding, but it's exactly what I know Millie and Fred would want. I leave with two plates of meatballs, the only thing served as well as apple pie. By far one of the oddest and fun nest weddings I've been to in my life.

Walking back I cross in front of Seville's and see the light blazing through the front window. Inside, Esme and Carlisle are already setting up for tonight at the bar, rolling silverware and setting clean cups on the shelves. In the far corner, opposite from my usual section, are Rosalie and Emmett sitting intimately at a table, enjoying a plate of pasta. A plate of pasta for one. She can't seem to contain her laughter, he actually has her grabbing at her chest while her face explodes and those perfectly straight teeth shine in the light of the room. Her hand comes out to rest on his, taking the fork from between his finger tips. She looks freer than she did this morning. Her hair is loose, a little wild at the ends and without the coat her sweater is unbuttoned to reveal a light beige camisole underneath. She's even slid off her shoes so that a pair of stocking feet are all that I can see playing against the legs of the table. Even unkempt, Rosalie is a picture of perfection to look at. The type of woman who would look this way after twelve hours of sleep in a cave. It just isn't fair.

"Couldn't keep away?" Edward asks. He's standing directly behind me, hands in his pockets, his sweater back in place.

"Just heading home actually," I sigh. I can't seem to take my eyes away from the picture in front of me. Emmett takes a slow pull from his beer glass, trying hard not to chuckle as he does so. What is it that could be so funny to them all the time? How is it that they could be having so much fun, just the two of them?

"How was the second wedding?"

"Different," I laugh, shaking my head. "Entertaining. Meatball?" I offer. He takes a glance and purses his lips.

"I'll pass, thank you. Still full from the cake earlier."

"Where are you coming from?" I ask. He carries nothing with him, not even a coat in his arms.

"Just out walking. Getting some fresh air."

"Are you familiar with the neighborhood?"

"Not particularly. It's nice though. Small, quiet. Not a lot of people out during this time of day."

"I think that's what I like about it. Even on the busy days, there's really not anyone around. Plus, you know all the faces."

"Well I'm sure anyone with your lifestyle would have a hard time not knowing everybody."

"I don't think my lifestyle is so odd," I respond, mildly insulted. DO I really appear to be a wild woman, running around all the time? It's not always like it was today. Sure, I keep busy. I'm usually late to everything. I hardly sleep and often look like a mess but still…it's not crazy compared to a workaholic, is it? Is that what I am? Does it count if you're always volunteering…if you desperately need to keep busy?

"I don't mean that in a bad way. Just…interesting. You like people, that's all."

"I don't really think that's it…"I begin, trying to gather my thoughts. "It's more like…I like doing different things, I guess."

"Well…then…maybe it's the opposite. Maybe it's just people really like you."

"It's hard not to like someone who volunteers to work for you, is it?" I ask dryly.

"No, I don't believe it's just that. People seem to genuinely enjoy your company."

"Esme and Carlisle like everyone."

"Not just them," he says and it isn't until now I realize that we're still standing in the window of Seville's, looking in. What I hadn't noticed before is that gazing passed Rosalie and Emmett are instead, our own reflections gazing back at us. I can see my hair, wildly falling and coming out of the ponytail in the back and the way my shirt has drooped around the waist from complete lack of shape. More importantly, I can see how Edward stands just a fraction of a step behind me, almost six inches taller, so perfectly put together next to my mess it's absurd. He's looking at me, right into my eyes in the mirror images of ourselves, has been all this time, and I never noticed.

"Everyone today…they like being around you. Are drawn to you, I guess."

I laugh, doubtfully. "Drawn to me? People like to have their pictures taken. Besides, if I didn't know any better I'd say people were pretty drawn to you as well today. You held up well at that wedding. I have the pictures to prove it," I smile, slyly and he laughs in return.

"I'm not usually good, with kids that is. Kids are confusing. A little too wild. Those girls were cute though. Funny…they said I was pretty."

I turn around to face him so I'm no longer gazing at him in the window anymore. There is the slightest trace of pink to his face and his eyes squint in embarrassment. What could he possibly be embarrassed by? Doesn't he know how irresistible that scene in front of me was today?

"I should get home," I say suddenly, pulling my bag tight to my side. "I haven't showered or anything and I have to work soon."

"Yes, I should get back to my hotel. I haven't gotten any work done at all today."

"Well, that's mostly my fault. Sorry," I sigh and his laughter draws my face up once more from the sidewalk.

"No, Bella….most people who know me would say that's a good thing."

"Well, I don't really know you," I admit and he nods in agreement.

"No, I suppose you don't."

That familiar silence falls over us once again. Why is it I so often find myself wanting to run away and yet, wait for the next thing to come from his mouth at the same time? Why is it he always seems content to not talk at all when I have a million questions I want to ask?

Without another word, I bolt. No goodbye, no 'see you tonight'…I just couldn't get my lips to form the words. Before I know what I'm doing I'm running, physically running like I have been all day down the street and into my building. How's that for confusing, Edward? How's that instead of our typical, awkward silence?

Upstairs Alice and Jazz are gone and I get the apartment alone for a few free minutes. I throw Ray LaMontagne on the cd player…Gossip in the Grain is my best friend…and let the shower run for several minutes until it's so hot, it soothes and burns at the same time against my skin. I use Alice's vanilla scented shampoo because my Sauve is too boring for a day like today. Today, I feel lighter than most but still heavy with exhaustion. Today I'm actually looking forward to my shift and the clammer and craziness of Seville's. I'm looking forward to something for the first time in forever.

Same dirty work pants, new dark blue button down shirt. For a change of pace I let my hair air dry and when I throw some mousse in the mix, like Alice taught me to do, it has a gentle wave to it. Let's get wild, Bella, I say to the mirror and add some lip gloss and mascara. Not bad. You could pass for a human being even.

I let the pork chops simmer in the frying pan as I finish the laundry and by the time I'm ready to head out the door, Alice and Jazz are back with three new video rentals and a carton of ice cream.

"Cream sauce is in the pot on the back burner, broccoli and cauliflower are in the dish in the oven," I offer.

"Hey, we'll see you tonight!" Alice suddenly calls as I'm pulling the door shut behind me.

"What about your movies?"

"We've been in all day…these can wait til tomorrow. We need a little night life," she shrugs and Jazz nods solemnly at her side.

"Alright…I'll see you in a bit," I call and I take off. I'm already ten minutes late due to some very meticulous underwear folding, not that Carlisle would ever say anything to me.

The only one present by the time I stroll through the front doors is Esme. She has her light chocolate hair pulled into a bun on the top of her head. To my surprise, a band is setting up on stage already. She calls to me as I throw my coat up and I help to lug trays full of snack mix to set up at the tables.

"Who's playing tonight?" I ask. I don't recognize any of the men straightening the drum sets or putting the amp together in the corner.

"We figured an open mic night was a good idea. Apparently Rosalie and Emmett have been practicing most of the day with something other than a tambourine," she laughs. Well, this out to be interesting at least.

I clear dishes from tables and leave final bills from the dinner crowd and by the time the first performers are up to play, my section is once again at capacity. I'm running from bar to table, from waitress to waitress grabbing napkins and straws. For some reason as soon as I fill my pockets they're empty just as quickly and the only thing to make up for that annoyance is that the tips keep my pockets full where my supplies can't. The band picks up, a strange man is wailing away on the guitar like a professional jazz player and I find myself smiling. I'm having fun...kind of. I'm almost dancing between tables, throwing laughing glances to Emmett and Rosalie who are dancing on the makeshift floor in front of the stage. I haven't seen Edward all night but it doesn't even matter. He'll be around and when he spots me I won't be the exhausted mess from today. Tonight, I am carefree and hopping from one foot to the next, enjoying the music.

Of course, when things begin to go my way it's only a matter of time before they...don't anymore. A particularly drunk blonde stands up just as I'm rounding a table with a tray of margaritas, tipping it against me as she rises from her chair. The only sound that can be heard across the entire room is that of glass against concrete as four of them fall to the floor and her face is horrified, stumbling back to her seat. I hold the tray to my chest, feeling the cold seep against my chest. I don't even want to look, it's going to be that horrible.

"I'm so…so, sorry," she says, trying hard not to laugh as she does so. Her hand comes up to her mouth as she stifles a laugh and still I don't move.

"…Yup," I begin.

"Do you need help"-

"Nope." I stop her. I lean forward, letting the remaining cup fall forward. I'm covered in slush from my chin to my belly button. So much for the extra effort tonight.

"Bella, oh my," Esme calls, running forward. Emmett is right on her tail with a mop and broom to clean the debris as she directs me towards the restroom.

"Honey, there's an extra shirt behind the door of Carlisle's office…oh look at your arm," she is trilling as she pulls the tray from my hands. Somehow, in the mess, I've cut myself on the fleshy part of my forearm. Not terribly deep but enough to mix with the mess and create an interesting and disgusting color of red and green. I can feel myself turning my own shade of pea soup as I take in the sight of it.

"Emmett, leave the mess and get Bella home, take my towel," Esme is instructing, grabbing the broom from his grasp. Emmett can't stop staring at my arm as I drip onto the floor.

"Jesus, Bella, what did you do," he mumbles. I can't bring myself to form words. In my head, I know it isn't bad. I know it's not deep, only long and messy but I can feel my lips tremble. Oh, don't cry you moron. It's not worth crying over. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry…too late.

"I'm fine," I blubber, taking the towel in my own hands.

"No, get home, we'll get this cleaned up. You need to shower and get some bandages, sweetheart, you can't work like this."

"You're so busy," I begin, looking to the crowd. My face is hot, burning at the cusps of my lids and I can feel the tears escaping onto my cheeks. Her fingers come forward and begin to brush them away, giving me that sympathetic smile I know so well.

"Honey…let him take you home."

"I can take myself…I'll be right back."

"No, no," she's insisting and suddenly, Carlisle is right behind her, sensing the urgency no doubt. I can see Rosalie peering over his shoulder and the crowd I'm attracting is ridiculous. Go about your business folks, just bleeding girl weeping here, like an idiot. Making a fool of herself, per usual.

"Carlisle, I really am fine, please tell her I'll be right back as soon as I clean up my mess," I try but he too is giving me that look. I feel like a stupid child. I've caused such a mess because of a drunk girl I should have known to look out for and my own clumsiness. Why can't I just slow down long enough to do things right?

"Bella, Edward is going to walk you back, he's waiting by the door," Carlise says and I turn. Sure enough, Edward is standing by the entrance, pulling his coat and watching us closely.

"Oh, of COURSE he is," I find myself, too late from saying them out loud.

"What's that?" Esme asks, looking slightly stricken.

"He doesn't have to take me, I'm fine. It's not like earlier, I can walk across the street…I don't need a ride or anything," I grumble, tears still sliding down my face. I can't go with him like this! I can only think to go as far as the nearest rock which I will bury myself under.

"He insisted taking you, Bella, it's no bother," Carlisle reassures me.

"Of course it's a bother," I snap and feel bad immediately. Slowly, we're walking in a group towards the entrance, me clutching the towel tightly against my arm while Emmett is left behind to sop up the mess. Along the way I focus long enough to see we're passing James' table. He has a redhead sitting across his lap, laughing with his friends. Could this night get any worse? Where is my coffin, please bury me now.

Edward's face is anxious as we approach him, looking to Carlisle and then my arm quickly.

"You going to make it?" he asks with a nervous chuckle. "You look…pale."

"I'm fine, really. You don't have to take me home."

"I want to," he says and he looks me in the eye as he does so, nodding slightly. He extends a hand and without asking, takes the towel from my fingers into his own. He applies slight pressure, harder than I was and leads me outside before I can protest. Alice and Jasper are dancing across the street and when she catches sight of me she skips forward, a worried look on her face.

"What did you do?" she accuses instantly, looking to me for an answer.

"Oh, I'm fine thank you," I mumble dryly.

"A customer bumped into her, cut her arm up." He looks up after his explanation, a question on his brow as Alice inspects my condition. "I'm sorry, you are?" he asks.

"The roommate," she answers. Jazz steps forward.

"The roommate's boyfriend," he says quietly and I catch his eye. His smile is small, comforting…sympathetically knowing. This isn't the first time I've come home with a ridiculous injury.

"You're the knight in shining armor?" Alice asks Edward to which he stands a little straighter.

"Not quite. Edward Cullen…I'm Esme and Carlisle's nephew."

"Ahh…" Alice smiles, shooting me a gaze before diverting her eyes back to him, "over-achieving Edward."

"Pardon?"

"No ponytail," she continues mumbling, tapping her chin and ignoring him, "not bad." Finally, as if he has passed the twelve second inspection, she turns back to me.

"Want me to come back with you?" she asks and I shake my head.

"I really will be fine…alone," I say pointedly to Edward. He only grips firmer to my arm and I can see the slightest glow of pink breaking through the towel. I might actually vomit.

"Come on," is all he says and we begin to walk passed them.

"Call my cell if you want me to come home!" Alice calls after us to which I yell back, "I'm fine, have fun!" I don't have a moment to say anything else because Edward has us walking briskly to the entrance of my building. Once inside I lead the way to the staircase, up two flights, down the hall and to my door. He helps to extract the keys from my back pocket, looking to the ceiling as he does so and I want to laugh and throw up at the same time. Closest thing to a grope I've had in a while and he couldn't bring himself to even look?

Once inside, still moving about silently, he leads me to the sink. He doesn't ask where things are, just digs through cupboards until he pulls up a washcloth and starts running water in the sink. He guides my arm gently into the stream and I watch as the mixture of green and red disappears down in swirls, passed Jazz and Alice's dirty dishes. He leaves my side and comes back a few moments later with a clean towel and band aids. With the blood gone I can see that I was right, it's nothing more than deep scratch.

His hands are warm compared to the cool water my arm was under moments before, and soft. Firmly he blots the new spots away until my arm is dry and begins layering antiseptic. I watch his face as he works, while hair hits his forehead and his eyebrows remain deep in concentration. He has the determination of a surgeon while he works, never looking to my face, never saying a word. He simply keeps cleaning until I look down and from my wrist to my elbow is a meticulously placed line of bandages. Their ends are matched up perfectly, like stitches would look if they were made of tape.

Still not meeting my gaze he brings his hands to the neck of my shirt and undoes the top button.

"Hello," I say, surprised and I take a step back, feeling my butt hit the counter.

"You have to take this off, it's cold and wet and disgusting," he sighs.

"I can do it," I say, taking the buttons in between my own fingers. The pull of the bandages against my skin hurts but isn't unbearable.

"I was just helping," he mumbles. He still doesn't meet my eyes. "It's not a big deal if you need help."

"I know it's not," I answer, "I just…I can do it fine myself."

And I do. He turns his back to me and walks towards the living room while I finish undoing the rest of the buttons of my shirt. Letting it fall into the sink I grab the washcloth from the faucet and get it wet with warm water. I wipe quickly, inaccurately at my chin, down my chest, haphazardly around my belly button. He's right, everything is sticky and cold and disgusting. I smell like lime and sugar, even the ends of my hair are damp.

"Where is your room?" he calls to me, and I turn to see his back is still turned away.

"That door on your right," I answer and he disappears into it. Moments later he comes out, an old pink t-shirt in his hand. He walks backward, bumping into the kitchen table as he does so with one arm extended and when he's close enough I take it from his fingers.

"Thank you," I say, pulling it over my head. "I'm good."

With the all clear he turns back around. His eyes are soft, and if I'm not mistaken, a little worried. He grips a kitchen chair in his hands, standing awkwardly.

"I think I'll be ok," I finally say.

"What do you think you'll do now?" he asks. I look stupidly around the room. Dirty dishes from dinner, my unmoved laundry Alice promised to finish.

"Clean up I guess," I answer. He nods, looking at the mess surrounding us.

"Do you mind…if I stick around?" he finally asks. His voice is trepidacious, unsure…afraid of my answer. I don't know how to respond. I don't know if I even want him around in such a terrible mood. What could we possibly have to say besides our typical, awkward silence?

"It'll be pretty"-

"Boring, I know," he interrupts and a smile creeps across his face. My excuse for everything earlier when he shouldn't have stuck around. Now, I'm the one who's embarrassed.

"Right," I agree.

"I don't mind," he says, "I'd much prefer it actually. I don't know if you know this or not but Seville's…it really isn't my type of place," he says slowly. He looks up to me, hesitant to do so. I can't help but feel my own smile spread across my cheeks, shaking my head as I do.

"Yeah…actually…it's not mine either."

Without another word I take a seat at the kitchen table, crossing my arms in front of me across the top. He mimics my movement and we sit, quietly.

For the first time all day I'm slowing down. For the first time all week, I'm not moving.

For the first time in forever, I don't feel the need to.


	6. Hands and Heels

**A/N**: Sorry to update so much, trying to edit the chapters I did in the time before I started posting, so it's been going pretty quickly throughout the weekend. I'm sure when the work week hits it'll be less quick to move, so enjoy it for the moment while it lasts. Sorry for the errors I can never seem to catch.

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The only sound in my kitchen is that of our little, blue clock that sits above the stove. Edward keeps his fingers locked, his head focused on our table cloth. I clear my throat and he doesn't move. This could be a really long evening.

"You can clean if you'd like," he finally says, looking to me. I nod and stand, turning to the sink. I stop the drain and pour in some of that Greenworks dish detergent…love your planet, boys and girls. When the suds come up to the elbow of my one uninjured arm I stop it, piling in the cups and silverware resting on the sink. I feel movement behind me and Edward is standing next to me, dipping his own hands into the mixture.

"Why don't I wash and you dry? Don't want to get that wet," he motions gently to his recent bandage job.

"You don't"-

"Have to, I know. Contrary to popular belief, Bella, I'm actually fully aware of what I do and don't have to do on a regular basis. You can stop worrying about that if you'd like," he smiles and I blush. Excuse me for being courteous, snarkey. Instead, I take the suggested step back and grab the dishtowel with the tomatoes on it. He finds the sponge and swirls against one of the pork chop plates, handing it to me after rinsing it clean.

"Do you like music?" I ask. He furrows his eyebrows.

"Is this a trick question?"

"I'll take that as a yes," I sigh and head for the cd player. I switch out Ray LaMontagne for Jack Savoretti. A little less mellow and therefore, a little less intimate. Still just as dreamy. If I could have the love child of either one of those men I would welcome the opportunity so that perhaps in my old age that child would grace me with music while visiting me in my own version of Golden Oaks. That's how in love with those singers I am.

I join him at the sink again, working quietly. He has soap and water climbing up his arms and without asking, I reach out and roll up his sleeves, redoing the button at the crook of his elbow. He doesn't thank me, he doesn't even look to me as I do it. He just holds his arms perfectly still as I work until they're finished and hands me the mug with Rudolph on it for me to dry. He's such an odd man. He's so hard to read.

I'm almost afraid of what will happen when we don't have dishes to busy ourselves with but I don't really have to be. When he hands me the last cup he pulls the stopper in the sink, dries his hands, rolls his sleeves back down and turns to the basket of laundry on the kitchen table. He looks to me for confirmation and I nod, quickly, that this is, in fact, the basket that needs to be folded. He picks up a sweatshirt with Bob Marley on it, my favorite, and presses it to his chest while bending in the sleeves. Slowly, meticulously, perfectly. It's the nicest folding job that sweatshirt has ever seen. It becomes the first in a pile of many. He sticks to the big items while I fish through wildly and quickly for the intimates. The last thing I would like is for him to pull the corners of my polka dot underpants together against him until they're a perfect little square. As if this night has not been humiliating enough.

Laundry folded, I move to the living room and straighten the magazines along the coffee table that Alice insists stay open to the pages she's been perusing. I find the highlighter with the post-it tabs on the end and mark them as I close the pages, placing them in a neat pile. I look up to see Edward has his hands full with the videos Jazz and her have been going through during the day. He finds the correct case for each one and places them on the shelf. I want to tell him that he doesn't have to do this, he can sit and stare out the window for all I care. How awkward is it to have a stranger cleaning up after your roommate with you without even conversing? Without even being told to do?

I'm at a loss after a straight half hour of straightening. It was work that should have taken me at least an hour alone, even more so with my arm being so immobile, but before I know it we're standing in front of one another in my newly wiped down living room, a dust rag in his hand, the dust buster in my own. There's nothing left to do save cleaning the toilet in my bathroom. Thanks but no thanks.

"I think…that's everything," I finally say, breaking the silence. He seems to be taking inventory of the room, nodding slowly as he looks around.

"I believe so."

"Thanks for the help."

"You're welcome."

I sway where I stand, my knees bobbing slowly and nervously. When was the last time I was alone with a boy? Oh. That's right. That day I left. The day I couldn't think of anything to say then either. The way he looked to me, waiting for me to give him anything and I just stood, my mouth clamped shut, waiting for him to do the same. The way he walked out…left me standing in that living room too. Maybe, if I close my eyes, Edward will do the same and I won't have to watch. I won't have to feel that tug of déjà vu, that string that connects my heart and stomach. The string that pulls so tight in the middle of the night when I can't sleep. I can see his eyes with my own closed, see his disappointment. I wish I could scream at the me then. "Open your mouth, Bella! Tell him something, anything!". I never do. I can't change the past. In every day dream he still walks away, still leaves me standing alone. In the living room there, like the living room here. It's enough to make me close my eyes now and pray that tonight never happened. Neither of us are here. Neither of us will leave here due to the unending silence.

To my relief, Edward breaks it first this time.

"Tired?"

"No," I answer, almost too quickly.

"You look tired," he says in almost a whisper.

"Thank you," I chuckle and he shakes his head.

"Sorry. I just meant if you'd like me to leave so you can go to bed, I could." I consider this for a moment. The idea of laying down in own bed by nine pm, turning out the light. The idea of not being able to sleep because his face is so clear in my mind tonight. The place I left behind, the places I know like the back of my hand will be in that bed with me. If I think about it long enough I'll be able to smell him on my sheets and my skin. Wood musk and his soap and sweet sweat.

"You don't have to go. I'm not ready for bed quite yet."

"What do you suggest?" he asks and I look around the room.

"Alice rented some movies, if you'd like."

He bobs his head in slow agreement. "That sounds good." And he wanders to the television, digging through the rentals. He holds up a plain blue case, kneeling in front of the dvd player.

"How do you feel about comic books?" he asks and then raises the other hand, "or are you more of a Kate Hudson and the perfect man girl?" he smiles.

I consider my options. "X-men," I finally sigh, "definitely X-men." The last thing I need, next to being left to my own devices, is to be watching Kate Hudson fall in love for the ninetieth time to the perfect man while I sit next to equivalent, silent and motionless and completely oblivious to my own Kate Hudson-like qualities in real life.

"Give me a minute," I say and disappear into my bedroom. I close the door and take a deep breath, leaning against it for a moment. Pull yourself together, woman. It's just a movie. He'll probably get tired half way through from such scintillating conversation anyway and leave.

I run a brush through my hair and pull off the work pants, replacing them with some grey sweats. Not too tight, not too loose. Just the right pair of pants for "I couldn't care less if you looked at my butt or not" insinuation. The pink t-shirt is hideous, something from high school with a giant fork on the front wearing a graduation cap. We didn't have a very creative student council at Forks High School, but it'll have to do as putting it on alone was hard enough. I find the fuzzy socks, the ones Sue got me to pair with the scarf for particularly cold days this winter and grab the blanket from the end of my bed. Fully armed with as many comfort items as I can handle carrying, save grabbing Felix and dragging him to sit with us, I head back out.

Edward is sitting on the couch, leaning back slightly, one foot against the coffee table. I notice that he's taken off his shoes, lined them up neatly near the front door of the flat. He's removed his sweater once again, leaving only that white t-shirt, and really, it should be a crime it looks that good on him. He's staring at the remote blindly, pushing buttons while the snow flashes on the TV screen. Looking up to me, he gives a confused smile and holds it out.

"This is broken," is all he laughs and I take it gingerly between my own fingertips. I hit the red button, followed by Input 4, Exit twice and finish it off with Disc Menu. Badaboom, magic. He laughs as the screen comes to life.

"Nice," is all he manages and leans back once again. I notice he's placed himself squarely in the center of the couch. Not spreading his arms or taking up too much room but placed meticulously enough so that regardless of where I choose to sit, I'll be so close we're bound to touch. Great. I wrap the blanket snugly around my shoulders and choose the right side, the far corner and lean against the armrest as I do so. He doesn't notice as the screen comes to life.

We last maybe four seconds in silence before he turns to me.

"Who is your favorite X-Man?" he asks suddenly and I'm caught off guard by the question. I try to picture them from the first film, the names that go with the faces and odd talents.

"Uh…Wolverine, I guess."

"Why's that?"

"Um, I don't know. He's….he's mysterious? He's got that whole, 'I-suffer-alone' thing going on, it's very attractive. Plus, immediately healing capabilities. That could certainly come in handy," I say dryly, motioning to my arm. Edward nods in agreement, thinking thoughtfully to himself.

"I think my favorite is Storm," he says.

"Why's that?"

"Halle Berry? Are you kidding?" he asks and a smile breaks across his face.

"I thought the point was picking based on power. If we're going on looks alone then certainly my pick would have been different."

"Oh, more of a Jason Marsden fan?" he asks.

"Definitely not. More like Professor X," I scoff, "I like 'em bald." A laugh erupts from his mouth and he shakes his head. From the corner of my eye I can see he's watching me, giving me an odd look that I can't quite place as anything more than curious. I pull the blanket tighter sinking deeper into the couch.

"Now, if we're going by Superheroes in general…based on power," I clarify, continuing and thinking to myself, "then I'd have to say my favorite of all time is Superman. Hands down."

"Kind of cliché, isn't it?" he asks.

"Hardly. He's the picture of perfect superhero. Dashing good looks…a hopeless romantic…has strength, can fly, has x-ray vision…he encompasses the essence of all that it is to be a super hero….crap, maybe that does make him cliché," I realize as I list off his qualities.

"I think so."

"I've never been a fan of Batman," I continue, thinking aloud more than explaining to Edward. "Frankly, he's just rich. Give anyone enough money and technology and they can create their own alter ego super hero-ness. The bat mobile is someone else's brilliant creation. He doesn't fly…just uses those wires and he can't fight any better than the next guy. Batman is simply a guy in black tights with a wad of cash and a decent left hook," I finally surmise. Edward's lips are playing on laughter as he tries to keep a straight face.

"You've thought a lot about this," he finally says and I nod.

"Who's your favorite?" I ask and he bites his lip in thought. I notice as he does so he takes a hand and rubs his head, letting the coifed hairs come loose a bit until they're standing up in different directions. It's a mess, surely ridiculous looking, but I don't want him to touch it. Seeing him less kempt is a treat.

"I just saw Iron Man and that was pretty decent. Tony Stark is definitely a bad ass," he muses.

"And a true genius," I add. "I mean, we could go into the evil that inheritably accomplices mass destruction weaponry for profit during war but I think that takes away from the story."

"Definitely," he smiles, nodding his head.

"Even if his money is blood money."

"True."

"Because, I don't know if you've seen the John Cusack movie, War Inc. but it really helps to comically explore the business known as war profiteering and essentially, that's what Tony Stark is involved in with the creation of bombs bought and used by foreign countries for the destruction of"-

"I thought," he laughs, interrupting, "we were forgiving him that small flaw."

"I think perhaps, to be safe, you should just admit that Superman is the ultimate in superheroes," I say lightly. I keep my face stern but can feel that my eyes are shining with the laughter I want to let go. He stares at me for several seconds until I can feel that familiar heat creep to my cheeks and the need to look away is suddenly burning behind my eyes. He looks like he wants to say something and I'm worried, for a moment, that he actually can't tell that I've been joking all along. Maybe he doesn't know how to playfully banter the way Emmett does. Maybe he really is a stick in the mud the way he's been described. It's just that, so far…he really hasn't been.

He turns away then, before I do, and focuses on the screen. I don't push it. Instead, I get up and shuffle in the dark to the kitchen. Grabbing two of the newly cleaned mugs I fill them both with hot water from the tap and grab a handful of bags from the tea tin I keep stocked. Alice isn't much of a tea drinker but I try and pick up a box of different flavors whenever I remember to.

I bring them back to the coffee table, spreading them out haphazardly and select a blueberry packet. I don't say anything to him as I hand him the mug, just put my own cup together, dipping intermittently and soon, he follows suit with a bag of Pekoe. The room begins to fill with the scent of honey, soft and sweet and the warmth spreads to my cheeks when I hold the mug close enough. It's soothing. It makes me more at ease. I pull my feet up beneath me, adjusting the blanket. Edward takes a tentative sip and leans back further into the cushion, both feet across the table top.

Somehow, we make it through a good hour of the movie without saying much. I point out the ridiculousness that is spandex superhero gear while he argues the importance of it for movement and little interference. I wonder aloud why every girl's hair in the film can't be of a natural color. He finishes his mug around the same time I do. And then, quietly, while I shift once more to find a way where my foot doesn't dig into my butt as I sit on it, he reaches out. Taking my heel in the palm of his hand without even looking to me, he pulls until my leg extends. He lays it gently to rest in his lap. He still isn't looking at me, concentrating solely on the movie and making sure the tea bag is resting safely back in the mug. It's the same manner in which I rolled up his sleeves earlier. Following suit, because I don't know what else to do, I let the other leg follow. My feet find a place to lay easily across his right leg and he pulls the blanket so that it covers the very tips of my toes. Doesn't speak. Doesn't even look as he does it. Leans back when he's finished, laying his head against the couch cushion.

I can feel my breath hitch at the feel of him beneath me. I'm impossibly still, can't bear the thought of moving. I should be more comfortable but instead am hyper aware of everything in the room, him in particular. The slow way he blinks, the steady rhythm of his breath, the sway of his toes on the table. I'm watching him from the corner of my eye as the movie ends and his eyes have already begun to close. The credits begin rolling and I'm the only one watching. His hands rest at his side, my feet still in his lap, while the X-men theme music blares on in the background. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I should wake him or pretend to be asleep. There's this nagging in the back of my mind that this is wrong and yet, I want to be here. I've been waiting to be in this exact place for so long. His head falls slowly, impossibly slow to the right slightly and I can make out the shadows of the room on his cheeks.

This is my only chance to look at him, really look at him without him realizing it and shamelessly, I take advantage of it. I lean forward, careful not to adjust the weight of my legs on his lap and gaze into that face. That slight stubble is still there, that wreckless hair that's been pushed around haphazardly throughout the film. His eyes are relaxed for the first time, smooth and tired and his lips are parted only the tiniest bit with every breath that comes in and out. He's a quiet sleeper. He's got the trace of circles beneath those tired eyes. From this close I can smell the tea on him still, the lingering of honey and spice mixed with something else. Cologne of some kind.

The door clicks and his eyes fly open, suddenly, softly. He doesn't move, doesn't back away from my face merely inches from his own. I hear the kitchen door come open fully and pull myself out of the trance in a split second. It's next to impossible to tear my eyes from his gaze, that look that is impossible to read. Shouldn't he be completely freaked out that I was watching him sleep? Shouldn't I be completely mortified that I'm such a ridiculous idiot?

Alice and Jazz tiptoe in until they see me erect on the couch and Alice's lips transform into a smile as she turns on the light.

"Hey, you're alive," she calls quietly, tossing her coat onto the kitchen chair. I retract my legs from Edward's lap, pulling them tight to my chest.

"Yes, turns out that an amputation wasn't necessary," I answer. Jazz laughs and waves slightly to Edward who has also pulled himself into a full sitting position.

"X-men…good choice," he says, picking up her coat from the chair and hangs it with his own in the hall closet. I turn to Alice, who has a knowing look on her face. Her eyes dart from Edward to myself, back to Edward who is seemingly disoriented, pulling his feet from the coffee table, rubbing his eyes as he goes to stand.

"You were greatly missed tonight," Alice says cautiously, removing the shoes from her feet and her face registers relief at the comfortable ease of no more heels against the floor.

"I'm sure they were crazy busy being a person short," I grumble, disappointed in myself.

"Sure they were busy, but that's not what I meant," she says, leaning on Jazz as she removes the other shoe. "Ponyboy was looking for you," she says with a small smile. I look to her, quizzically.

"Is that so?" I ask.

"I told him you were with the rest of The Outsiders," she smiles and I'm slightly aghast at the suggestion.

"Alice you didn't."

"I didn't," she admits, frowning, "but I should have."

"He just likes the discount I give their table," I sigh. I notice that Edward has made his way to the door, pulling his shoes on slowly, his head down. I can't see his eyes, he keeps them so expertly hidden.

"Him and some guys were on stage a lot tonight. He's a terrible singer, Bella," she laughs and I shake my head.

"I don't remember what he sounds like."

"Well between asking Esme repeatedly where you went off to and then, recognizing me and forgetting he had asked me twice earlier, he was quite put out with your disappearance. Esme reassured him you'd be back on Tuesday for the game night."

"Great, I'll see him then." I try to sound indifferent, shooting her a heated glance. Why is she talking about him? Why, all of the sudden, does she care that he's taken notice to my existence.

"I should go," Edward calls from the front door, snapping me back to the present.

"Yeah, we're going to bed," Alice says definitively and then, grabbing Jasper by the crook of his elbow she spins them towards the room. I see Jasper's face register brief surprise, barely a wave leaves his hand before the door closes loudly behind them. Well, then.

Edward shuffles uncomfortably by the front door, looking to his feet and then remembering his sweater, strides clear passed me to the couch, wrenching it over his head, and heading straight back to where he came from. Something is off, something is wrong with him.

"Thanks…for keeping me company," I say and he nods, tersely, still not looking up.

"Yeah, sorry I fell asleep. I didn't realize how tired I was." Still no eye contact.

"That's alright, I was pretty out of it myself. Thanks for the help cleaning too. I know I've said it a lot but you really didn't have to do that stuff."

"I didn't mind."

"And my arm…God, I'm really in your debt tonight," I laugh, waving it out in front of me. He doesn't crack a smile, his shoulders don't ease.

"No problem." With that, he turns and grabs the handle of the door, turning it to leave.

"Pot roast," I suddenly blurt out and then, cover my eyes with my hand briefly, trying to gather my thoughts. He turns his direction to my outburst.

"Sorry…I make pot roasts, on Sundays…I think Carlisle mentioned that. It's for my building, for the older people," I explain. He doesn't seem to be registering what I'm saying as I stumble over my words.

"You should come…if you like…pot roast," I try again. He thinks quietly, staring off towards my kitchen table for a moment before answering.

"I should probably get some work done tomorrow. I haven't been very productive this weekend," he says slowly. I can feel the heat rushing to the tips of my ears. So he watched a movie with you, moron, it doesn't mean he wants to spend every free moment in your presence. This is why you don't invite anyone, anywhere. This is why you keep yourself busy, so you don't make stupid mistakes such as this.

"Of course, never mind the pot roast," I mumble. I should have just let him leave.

He grips the handle once again and steps into the hallway. I'm about to bolt it behind him, make a mad dash for my bed, bury myself beneath the covers and replay every moment like I'm in the eighth grade again when his hand catches in the jam. I watch his fingers grip the wood of the door and I'm forced to look up into his eyes. There's the tired, the same exhaustion I feel after such a long day and a little bit of that disorientation, as if he's still not sure how he ended up here. He starts to speak, stops himself. Opens his mouth to start again before giving a slight shake. Then, he turns and is gone. Briskly walking down the hallway, not getting away fast enough.

I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. I dream of his hands, of hands in general cupping the base of my heel, pulling it away from myself and into the net of his lap. If I concentrate hard enough it is always his hand and never another's, that know all of me so well. They're hands of light skin rather than copper, of warmth rather than fire. They're comforting and quiet. They're Edward instead of Jacob.


	7. Two Muffin Morning

I sneak out the front door before Alice and Jazz exit her room and high tail it to Ernie's. I don't have to baby sit for another two hours but I have thinking to do. More like wallowing, really. Morbid embarrassment can only be followed by a lot of red faced coffee drinking early in the morning when I won't have to speak with anyone I know besides Ernie and maybe Emma if she's making muffins. That's better than facing the questions of Alice all morning, definitely.

I step through the doors, breathing in that familiar fresh-baked smell and Ernie's round face, complete with dusty mustache is already smiling at me.

"So early?" he asks as I approach and I lean my legs against the glass case. Beneath the blueberry are look particularly fresh, as well as the cranberry walnut and oh lord, cheese danish. Its intoxicatingly wonderful to be here.

"I couldn't sleep," I sigh and I place my hand along the bottom rung, indicating the zucchinni bread. Hesitating for a second I add a finger in front of lemon poppy seed and he nods, taking one of each and putting them in a bag.

"What flavor are we feeling this morning?" he asks and his head his tilted to one side. A two muffin morning can only mean I have serious thinking to be doing and Ernie knows that better than anyone.

"Cinnamon," I sigh and with a turn he grabs the disposable mug to begin the mixture. I can hear the humming of Emma in the kitchen from behind steel appliances and I smile. Something about a pudgy woman dancing her socks off to Michael Jackson is entertaining to me. Add muffins and you might just have a decent morning.

I take a seat by the front window while I wait. At eight am on a Sunday there really should be more of a church crowd hitting the streets but I think my neighborhood has just the right mix of lazy old people and college kids, with a few young professionals in there that just don't have the energy for church anymore. Merchants don't open their doors around here today until maybe eleven am, breakfast places included. I'm not sure what inspires Ernie to get moving so early every single day. Maybe there's a secret code you have to abide by when you're the neighborhood coffee supplier.

Lost in thought, Ernie pulls me back by setting the cup in front of me and he stays close by until I look up into his face. That sweet face, that terrible mustache.

"You should tell someone about it," he says and I shrug.

"Are you volunteering your ears, Ern?" and his smile grows wide.

"Honey," he says taking a seat across from me, "I have been waiting to give you these ears since the day we met." I laugh. God, how embarrassing is this? I'm about to spill the problems of my life to my coffee man. My barrista will know than anyone else in only a matter of minutes. He'll know more than Alice the day we left, the months that we've been here. She's been so patient with me. Everyone is always so patient with me. My dad, Sue, Alice…Jacob.

"You see…I left this boy," I try and begin, placing my fingers against the table top. Ernie's brows are furrowed, deep in concentration to prove to me he is, in fact, listening to every word I have to say.

"I loved this boy. I was in love with this boy," I try again. How do I express this? How do I tell him that I'm not just another girl in love with a boy who lost the boy because she's an idiot? This isn't your average love story. This isn't high school sweethearts and a plan that fell through. This is the stuff of miracles, of great romances, of Romeo and Juliette and The Notebook thrown into one. This is a boy who knew my insides better than I could ever dream to.

"This is hard," I finally sigh to which Ernie smiles softly.

"Why don't you try the middle, then, huh?" he suggests. I think about it for a minute. Maybe the middle will be easier than the beginning.

"Alright," I breathe in and out through my nose, collecting my thoughts.

"I ran away. We ran away, Alice and I. He asked me to marry him and I froze. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to say yes, I think…I mean, I must have. It's all I've thought about or, rather, what I've been trying to keep myself from thinking about since we left. I keep playing it over and over in my mind. He's standing there, in our living room of our house, the house that we had together! The house we moved into and we had one bed and one couch and one kitchen where all of my mixing bowls still are…my stuff is all still there…I think. I haven't called him since we left. I didn't say anything for so long that he knew it wasn't a yes and that was all he needed to know. He left me standing there in that living room and I couldn't bring myself to go find him. I didn't know what to say once I found him." I am trembling, to my surprise as I look to my hands on the unsipped cup, sitting before me. I could cry. I could lose control right now and Ernie wouldn't care less but I stop myself. I've stopped myself so many times already. There's no reason this should be any different.

"I left him Ernie, I left everything. I stayed with my best friend and she thought we could use to get away. She transferred offices to the furthest from Forks…next to Tokyo, London was it and I applied for a teaching position because I was certified in the states. It was so easy. I mean, it shouldn't have been that easy. We did it all in two weeks. One day I was there, standing in my living room with this boy…this boy that I've always loved and a ring and a promise and the next…I had one suitcase and Alice. And she didn't ask any questions…she didn't. She just knew that we needed to leave and we did. We left. We've been here ever since…her office found us a flat and she found Jazz almost the second we got here and now it's like, I'm stuck again only I can't figure out if I want to be stuck. I like it here. I like my life here. My crazy, erratic hobbies and the people I've met so far. It's like I know there's something pulling me back there, there's this voice in my head that keeps telling me that a boy is waiting for me at home but I can't go back. I still don't have an answer for him there. I don't know if I want to put that ring on and spend every day in that house with him because….because every day is so big, you know?" I ask. He nods. Simply nods. No facial expressions, no scared shock in his eyes.

"How do you do it?" I ask suddenly, leaning forward. "How did you get married and know that it was time? You were ready to spend your entire life with this woman in one place and just….just exist? Together all the time, every single day? How did you know?" I ask desperately, almost whispering. No offense to Emma. I don't want it to seem that I'm asking him a question that I'm not. I'm just generally curious. I'm just genuinely confused as to how so many people figure it out where it terrifies me into fleeing the country.

"I think," he begins slowly, turning to the window and the first light of morning shines off of his face. He's almost smiling as he talks, like he's not even really aware that he's talking to me. "I think that when you know, you know," he says. Again, so simply. No shock, no encouragement, not even a sympathetic hug or 'you did the right thing' speech like my dad gave me. Nothing. You know when you know. This is what you get for spilling your guts, kids.

"You know when you know," I repeat and he nods his head. Smiles. Jesus Christ Ernie, thanks a lot.

"Ok then," I sigh, leaning back. So he won't be revealing his secrets today like I revealed my own. I look up to Ernie to give him the sign that he can go back to work now, he's given me all the help I need for one day but he isn't looking at me anymore. His gaze still rests on the window and whatever is outside. The door rings that familiar chime, implying someone is coming in. I turn in my seat to whatever has Ernie's attention. Two customers in one hour on a Sunday must be a treat to him.

His head is down at first but it's not hard to recognize that jacket, that stature and tousle of hair that is run through with fingers. Edward shakes a little, taking off his coat and turns to us. I can't freaking believe it.

"Morning," Ernie smiles, "can I get you something?" he asks. Edward's face registers the slightest bit of shock, looking to me first, until he turns to Ernie.

"Um, yes…thank you. Coffee would be great."

"Black?" Ernie asks and Edward nods in confirmation. He leaves us, Edward standing in the entryway, me looking a mess, holding a trembling coffee cup…staring at one another.

"Hi," I begin.

"Hello."

"Funny meeting you here," I sigh, with a slight edge to my voice and immediately regret it. It's not like he won't notice. It's not like he probably doesn't notice every stupid little thing I do that can be construed as mildly insulting. I turn back in my seat and I hear him walking behind me. He approaches the counter and pays for his coffee and then, just when I think he's leaving he rounds a set of tables and pulls out the seat Ernie was once in. He sits across from me, hands around his cup.

"I thought you had work to do today," I say because I'm feeling daring. He started it. I mean, really, who doesn't have time for free pot roast?

"I do," he says.

"You should probably get to that," I respond to which he nods, slowly, not meeting my eyes. Never meets my eyes. Always hiding, head down, refusing to just look at me. Am I so hideous? Am I so aggravating he can't stand to even look at me most of the time?

"I think I should apologize," he says suddenly and I look up. Well, this is different.

"I think that perhaps I invited myself over last night when you might have just wanted to spend some time alone and that was very rude of me. I'm sorry for that."

"What?" I ask, stunned into stupidity.

"For last night," he says slowly.

"You're apologizing for insisting you take me home last night, getting my wound cleaned up and then keeping me company?"

"I invited myself over when you clearly expressed that you wanted to be left"-

"Wait," I say, waving my hands and sitting forward. "Did I at any point last night seem to you like I wasn't having a decent time?" He thinks for a moment, clearly unsure of what to say.

"I don't think so…"he begins.

"So you're apologizing for taking care of me _and_ showing me a decent time on a really crappy evening?" I say, clearly exasperated.

"I think…so…I didn't mean to insult you. I just meant to say that if your plans hadn't"-

"My plans," I interrupt. "My plans never involve a kind gentlemen coming ushering me home after one of my many unfortunate incidents. My plans never involve that same guy taking me to one of my ridiculous jobs and wasting the day for my sake." I stand, sliding my wallet from my purse, fuming as I take out the few bills needed to leave Ernie. "My plans didn't involve you inviting yourself over but, really, you helped clean my apartment and you helped to make sure I didn't get some bacterial infection and you let me pick the movie!" I exclaim. I'm hysterical, still on my high obviously from my spill with Ernie.

"My plans also didn't include inviting you to dinner, but there went that and imagine my surprise when you turned me down. That was fun, not at all humiliating. No, Edward, see my plans never included you, not the entire time you've been here," I say and I lean over the table as I do so. I'm feeling gutsy. I feel like I could punch him and kiss him all at the same time. He's staring at me, clearly frightened, eyes wide but I can't stop. Maybe an outburst has been long overdue and it sucks that he has to be at the receiving end but I don't really care.

"My plans never included you," I repeat and I bring myself a mere three inches from his face. I can smell his coffee, his cologne, his shampoo. I can see every eyelash on his face. "But somehow, you always end up there. And it hasn't been all that bad. Up until now, when you felt the need to apologize for it, it had been kind of nice, actually."

With that I turn, coffee and muffin bag in hand. I'm seething. He apologized…actually apologized after being so insistent last night? After everyone MADE me leave with him, the same way I was FORCED to take a ride from him. He's always around, since the second he got here. There had been no way of avoiding him and really…I didn't want to. He had turned out not to be what I expected at all. Why is it that the second I find something I might actually like…a person I might actually want to be around, they have to go and do something stupid like apologize for being near me?

I push the heavy door, hear that familiar chime. I feel bad I didn't thank Ernie and that I ran out. I stop on the sidewalk for a second. I should go back. I spilled my heart out to him and go bolting from his place all in a five minute span. He'll be concerned. Oh, God, what I wouldn't give not to go back in there. I just made my dramatic exit. Maybe I can watch for Edward to leave and go back…maybe I can sneak into the grocery store for a minute until I'm sure it's clear.

I turn on my heel and stop. Edward is standing directly in front of me, only a foot away. He takes a large step forward and reaches out his hands. Cupping my face he meets my eyes for only a second until he pulls gently. His lips are on mine. Warm and still and gentle. He doesn't move, just holds them there until I can think to respond. I kiss him. I bring my hands up from my sides, dropping the coffee cup to the sidewalk and grip the collar of his jacket. It's all the reassurance he needs. He leans in, his chest pressed to mine and responds, taking a breath in as he does so. It's the gentlest thing I've ever felt. It's like feathers, like plush pillows brushing against my face and he kisses me once, twice, three times. Never urgent. His thumb grazes against the line of my jaw and I can actually feel my breathing stop. I can't move. I can't blink or swallow.

There is the last, final, slow graze of his teeth pulling on my bottom lip and I physically shudder. I can't help it. He pulls back. I can hear him swallow hard from behind my closed eye lids. I don't want to move. I don't want it to be over and I can feel the heat resonating from his neck and hands onto my face. It's a blissful warmth.

I finally peek. As he holds me there his eyes are closed as well. Breathing deeply, in and out slowly, he simply holds my face, our foreheads pressed together until I clear my throat.

"Apology….accepted," I whisper. I can't think of anything else to say and thankfully, I don't need to. I can see his teeth flash slowly, slightly into a smile. He still holds me close. Neither of us will be the first to move it seems.

"I should get to work," he whispers and I nod my head against his. What I wouldn't give to stay this way the entire morning. Hell, the entire day. I don't want to back away. It's intoxicating, the smell and feel of him. All so different but so perfect. The same way his hands felt on my feet, the way it felt for him to fall asleep on my couch. Comfortable. Quiet.

"I think I might stop by for that pot roast," he continues and I laugh quietly.

"I'd like that," I admit. He takes a step back, lets his hands fall to his side again and I open my eyes all the way. Those eyes are finally looking at me. Not tired or worried. They're soft, gazing upon me.

"I'll see you later," is all he says and then, takes a slow step passed me. Is walking down the sidewalk before I know what's happened.

***************************************************************

I'm familiar with the term 'Cloud Nine'. I'm pretty sure I've even been on it a time or two. When I got my first teaching job after graduation. When Jacob and I bought our house and spent our night on the floor in front of the fire place. When Charlie got married.

None of those can really compare to this twisted knot my stomach has been in all day. I found myself skipping (and of course, tripping) down the sidewalk on my way to watch the kids. At one point I was pushing Bethany and Ron on the swings, alternating between pushes and didn't even notice when Bethany went rocketing off, sprawled on the ground in front of us screaming. I was too busy staring at the sky. Replaying that moment. Replaying my movie moment.

It's just…how often does a man kiss you like that out of the blue? How often have you watched that scene on television where a heated argument becomes something more? Why has it never been that way for me before? Why, when Jacob and I would fight did I want nothing more than to pull his hair and that if he ever tried kissing me during an argument it would only infuriate me further?

But this…this was like time stopped. How utterly, romantically, predictable Bella. I'm sure birds sang too, right? Angels threw rose petals at us and the world knew peace for thirty seconds?

And yet, all I can feel are those teeth…that soft tug of his mouth on my own and his exhale, that mixture of coffee and toothpaste warm against my tongue. A kiss that left me wanting….craving more. A kiss I won't be able to push aside while serving up my pot roast and potatoes to the elderly, for sure.

With Bethany cleaned up, four hours later the kids and I are covered head to toe in paint. What began as collage making ended up in body art and I'm just lucky Mrs. Caven is a little bit of a hippy and that the paints are washable. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror of their bathroom on the way out. Blue streaks in my hair, yellow dots on my cheeks, Ron was attempting to make me a butterfly, he claims. Why can't kids stick to simple things, like cats? Why must I walk the entire way home like this, with pink squiggly lines along the lengths of my arts and a heart on each knee cap? Why was I so lost in my own thoughts that I let them do this to me, no questions asked? Oh…right…the kiss.

Mrs. Caven pays me more than necessary, probably feeling bad for the state I'm in and I jog home. It's not that I'm much of a runner, it's more that I have exactly forty five minutes to shower and throw a roast in the oven before the Old and the Restless start knocking on my door.

Alice is waiting patiently at the kitchen table when I walk in and Jazz is nowhere to be seen. She looks perfect, of course, because she was able to sleep in and shower today. Her raven hair is curled softly at the ends, meeting at her chin line and pinned on one side with a single jeweled clip. She wears a dress, olive green with the painted flowers at the neck, a ruffle at the knee. It's adorable. I could kill her, considering even if I do get ready in time there will only be jeans and sweatshirts to be found in the mess of my bedroom.

"We need to discuss," is all she says and I run passed her to my room, tearing by Felix. Have I fed him? Is he just living off the mess that is my bedroom?

"So talk," I call and she appears in my doorway, dress fluttering at her knees. Edward is coming over in an hour and I'm going to wear what compared to that?

"All I'm going to say," she begins, holding out her hands in defense, "is that it looked pretty comfortable in here last night when we came in."

"Well that's because," I retort, tearing off my jeans, leaving a puddle at my feet, "he fell asleep! How much more comfortable…and might I add, bored, can you get?"

I rip the shirt off too and to my horror there is still some wet purple paint on the front, leaving a streak across my cheek as I toss it away.

"What the hell did you do today?" she asks distractedly as I sprint passed her in my underwear.

"Babysat…can you please peel the potatoes?" I call and start the shower. The steam is instantaneous, filling the bathroom. She shows up and stands at the bathroom garbage, three potatoes and the peeler in hand. There really is no getting out of this and I step into the hot water, scrubbing frantically at the paint on my arms.

"Why did he stay, though?" she asks.

"I don't know. He asked if he could and I said yes. He helped me clean," I answer. Suave in the hair, Neutrogena against my face. Maybe if I just start dumping soap and scrubbing blindly I won't miss much.

"And then you watched a movie…." she says.

"Yup."

"And that's it?"

"Yup." I answer. Soap is in my eyes, my hand is full of conditioner. I think. I hope it's conditioner. It could be bubble bath but at this point, who really cares.

"Alice?" I call, unsure if she's still there.

"I don't even like potatoes," she answers, grunting determinedly with the peeler.

"Alice," I repeat and I finish rinsing, grabbing for a towel blindly which her free hand gives me. I wrap and step out, looking her full in the face, sopping wet in the tub.

"He's coming over for roast."

"Ok"-

"He kissed me on the sidewalk and he's coming over for roast." I continue.

She's staring at me, mouth agape, potato in hand when there's the sound of the door opening in the kitchen. Jazz calls out to her, snapping her back to reality.

"Don't. Move." she instructs me and grabbing the one peeled and two unpeeled potatoes in her hands she runs from the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. I put a towel in my hair and take inventory of my face in the bathroom mirror. Only a tiny bit of paint in one eyebrow but other than that, not bad.

Before I can swab my ears out, Alice is back and her arms are full. I can recognize her make up bag, brimming though I know she keeps a ton more on the top of her dresser. In her other arm is garment on top of garment, clinging to the hangers she more than likely ripped them from in her closet in her hot rush. I look to her, horrified.

"No."

"Bella, hear me, out," she begins setting things down. She pulls out the towel hamper, closes the lid and pushes me onto it by my shoulders.

"This is going to be fine," she continues, taking a comb to my wet tangles and I flinch at a snarl, "Jazz has helped you cook more times than I care to remember and will take care of dinner. I have half an hour to make you presentable and I'm sorry but Bells," she says taking my face in her hands, "you deserve to look presentable. Boys don't just kiss girls and come over for old people food for nothing. Please…please let me do this."

I sigh. I can see the red top she saves for special occasions out of the corner of my eye, the pencil skirt with the slit up the back.

"Jeans," I say.

"Tube top," she retorts and I scrunch my eyebrows.

"It's fall."

"Fine…dress. I have the perfect, perfect dress I promise," she says and her voice takes on that of a sing-song. She's so giddy I could throw up. I sigh again.

"Fine."

I kind of check out after this point. I'm aware that she's drying my hair with a round brush, that she's pulling on my eyebrows with a pair of tweezers, despite much protesting. Jazz calls through the bathroom door to see if I want the pearl onions in the pan with the potatoes and carrots or not and I'm instantly jealous of what he's doing compared to what I'm stuck doing.

"I cannot believe these are your underpants," Alice says with a sigh as I step into the dress she's held out for me, the only words she's spoken the entire time she's been working.

"They're Hanes," I retort.

"They're hideous…what is that, cotton? Bella, we're going shopping on Tuesday. Obviously, Victoria has been keeping her secret for far too long."

"It was just a kiss," I hiss to her, hoping Jazz can't hear us from the kitchen, "it's not like I'm going to be showing off my underpants any time soon."

"Hello, every girl deserves to be wearing a fancy pair of underpants under her sweat pants. It's what makes us women…we have the God given right to feel sexy at all times and this," she says, holding out my plain white bra, "is less than sexy."

"God, I think Charlie took me to buy this when I was like, fifteen," I say, snatching it back.

"And you still have it?!"

I don't let her finish the thought. I've got the dress over my shoulders, concealing the horrendous underpants before she can say another word and she's right, it is perfect. It's red, a soft red, not at all like a lipstick you'd see in the movies and it caps my sleeves, scooping just below my collar bone the length of my neck. It's not too tight at the chest, ties in the back at my waist and flares out from there until it reaches my knees. I look up to my face as I take it in, smoothing over my stomach. Alice has done a decent job, I have to admit. Lightly lined eyes, slightly glossy lips, maybe a little blush. It's the first time I haven't seen myself…disheveled. I look calm, unflush, smooth hair that falls to my shoulders.

"Put on your black flats and that lotion that smells like cherries on your elbows…you're dry," she tsks, fingering my arm before stepping from the bathroom. That's Alice's way of saying I look nice.

It's hard to pull myself away from the mirror. Not because I'm so dazzled by my own looks but more because the second I leave this bathroom I'll have to face people and responsibilities and act like it's no big deal that I'm showered AND in a dress on the same afternoon. They might be old but they're not all blind and it will only be a matter of moments before someone says something about my appearance.

Jazz has the table set up buffet style when I make it to the kitchen. While the roast isn't finished, he has out the crackers and cheese and pre-made salad I picked up at the grocery store the day before, as well as the plates and napkins. Gravy is bubbling on the stove top as he stands at the counter, slicing the loaf of French bread.

"Why exactly have I been doing this all along?" I ask him, taking in the sight and smells and he laughs, uncomfortably, quietly, setting the bread in the basket.

"Don't say anything until you taste it," he answers. Alice leans up and kisses him on the cheek, hugging at his waist. This is what it looks like to thank someone you love without saying the words. This is what comfortable is. I had almost forgotten it could be that way.

I don't get to dwell long. Taking a peek in the oven (things were browning decently and the potatoes were looking golden) there is a knock at the front door. Mrs. Maise is there as well as Pearl from downstairs. I have no idea what her real name is. She insists we call her that the way her husband used to and she has a string of them around her neck at all times. She's answered the door at four in the morning during a fire alarm…silk robe, bunny slippers, pearl necklace. I can't explain the people I know. I just know them and love them the same.

George is hard to miss as he likes to sing Elton John songs where ever he goes. He also likes to call me "sweet cheeks" but we won't really go into that, as Alice gets it much worse from him than I do. She's actually avoided his end of the hallway all together because between that and "Tiddly Winks" she swears she'll end up beating him with his own cane.

Mr. and Mrs. Denardis are last but the most eager as Mr. Denardis is already asking where the French dressing is the second he makes it into the room. I swear, I hope these people have children or grand children because they act like animals when they come over on Sundays, you'd think they hadn't eaten all week.

Jazz is probably the best with all of them as he takes a genuine interest in what they do and what they like, making conversation as he hands out plates and napkins. Alice sticks mainly to Pearl. She likes her stories even if we can't tell whether she's lying or telling the truth in most of them. Me? I like Mrs. Maise. She's quiet like me, kind of clumsy and thankfully, in a wheelchair which prevents a lot of incidents. She also told me once that she lost the love of her life when she was twenty two. She got married after that to a wonderful man, Mr. Maise obviously, and she loved him but you can tell it's not with the same passion. It's like something was missing. It's like she spends the majority of her time, staring off into space, picturing what could have been. It's hard not to connect with that, though I'm not sure why.

I've got my arms full of the scalding hot roast pan, hovering passed Pearl as I try to walk steadily when I hear it behind me. That gentle laugh, the laugh that I've never really heard and recognized until now and when I turn he's in my doorway. Adorable in jeans and a t-shirt…a simply grey t-shirt and he's shaking hands with Mr. Denardis and holding a bottle of wine and I'm melting.

"Give," Alice instructs and her little hands are wedging in between my fingers and the pot holders as I teeter it to the left. I follow her lead, handing it over to place on the table and can turn fully to give him my attention. I look up to see he's already spotted me, is giving me a grin from my doorway. It's like a magnet. It's like I can't get to his side quick enough, there are too many old faces and walkers and wheel chairs in between us. I stumble over George who catches me at the waist and is a little slow at letting go and when I look up Edward is still in the doorway, his fingers to his lips laughing.

"Hi," I breathe, once I'm out of George's clutches.

"Hi," he answers and holds out the bottle of wine.

"Thanks but…they can't really have this. I think most of them are on blood thinners as it is…"I begin, looking around at the group and he laughs again, lightly, shaking his head.

"No I thought that could be…for later."

"Oh. That works," I answer. I watch his gaze fall to the floor, to my legs, up the length of the dress, on my shoulders until finally he meets my eyes and his voice is so soft, I doubt a single other person in the room can hear him say it. "You look nice."

"Thank you. You look nice too," and I'm blushing wildly. Fidgetting, my lip between my teeth. I open my mouth to invite him all the way in when I'm cut off, unexpectedly. A voice is calling to us from behind, in the hallway.

"We all know," it calls, low, sweet…earth shatteringly recognizable, "that I look great as well."

Edward turns, stepping to the side. James is in my hallway, hands in his pockets. Smile wide on his face.


	8. Pot Roast and Dancing

**A/N**: Hippiehappy keeps me going with her happy thoughts. Thanks for that ;)

Nothing is mine

************************************************************************

I falter. I can feel everything stop, staring at those suggestive eyes and his ease in which he stands, daring me to argue with his statement. Of course he looks great. That isn't the point. What is the point? OH. What is he doing here? That's right.

"Um, hi," I say, taking a step back. Edward is perfectly still next to me, standing between us in my doorway.

"I heard you got pretty busted up the other night. Thought I'd come and check on you," he says but as he talks he's looking at Edward, who's staring right back. He takes a step forward and still not looking at me, extends a hand. He pulls me forward, placing a soft kiss on my cheek in hello. What the hell is going on here?

"How did you…how do you know where I live?" I ask, at a complete loss for words. He lets go of my hand and behind me I can hear the room growing quiet. Pearl is no longer regailing everyone with her rendition of 'The Lullabye of Broadway'. George is no longer pretending to the be the bass in the background.

"I asked the owners…they said you lived in this building and your name is on the buzzer for seven. I pressed it but no one answered so I just came up…" he says and if I'm not mistake, he's looking slightly abashed.

"I'm sorry to just drop by but I can't have my favorite girl too wounded to come back to work. No one takes care of me there quite like you do," he smiles, tilting his head to one side. It's like my heart is caught in my throat while my head is screaming, 'Um, what?! How is it that everything you've been waiting for is happening all at the same time?! How is this even fair??'

"You didn't have to come by…I'm fine, look…no worries," I start jabbering and I hold out my arm. The band aids are no longer in place from the shower and all that remains is the faint red line of my scratch. Edward is still silent, staring at my flesh as I extend it like a specimen for everyone to see. Really, I'm stalling. Really, I have no idea what to do next.

"Ponyboy!" Alice calls behind me and I feel her little hands on my waist, breaking all of us from our trance. James gives her a quizzical look but she doesn't pause long enough to hear his response.

"Came for pot roast?" she asks to which he shrugs.

"I suppose I did," he answers.

"Fantastic," she beams and I can't help but stare at her in shock. She holds out her hand and drags James into the room, leaving Edward and I alone in the doorway. James looks back to me, clearly confused as she drags him along but doesn't have much of a chance to ask questions. Alice is already announcing his presence, introducing him one by one to each elderly person waiting for their meal. It's clearly a moment I'm supposed to take advantage of.

"I don't…I don't know"-

"Let me guess," Edward interrupts and sways where he stands, his head still low, "He wasn't planned either."

"It's not quite the same," I mumble but he only nods.

"Well, when you figure it out…let me know," he answers. His lips are pulled in, obviously insulted. Then, he leaves me to stand alone. Jazz is serving up plates of food to awaiting hands and James has been detained by Mrs. Denardis. I can't tell what they're talking about but he looks confused as she continues. He catches my eye, tries to throw me a wave and a smile but I'm too distracted. Edward's right, he wasn't planned. However, neither was that red head he had in his lap the other night, the excuse he had for not checking on me in the first place. Edward wants me to let him know? Fine. I'll let him know.

I drop the bottle of wine at the counter, hand George a napkin (gravy mess all over his white shirt) and throw Alice a knowing smile. It will be ok. I can handle this. I am a strong, independent woman. I was kissed today by a dream boat. I'm wearing a killer dress. No problem, Bella. No problem.

As everyone is finishing their plates and I begin to collect them to put in the sink, Pearl is at it again, taking requests for songs to enchant us all with. Secretly, as much as I love all of their company typically, I'm itching for all of them to leave. I need to get Edward alone. I need to tell him he was the only one I planned tonight, that I want nothing more than him and that bottle of wine and my couch and preferably, some sweat pants in the mix. Pearl, however, has other plans.

"What about 'At Last?' I love that one!" she exclaims to the crowd. Mrs. Maise looks slightly embarrassed at the scene she's creating but George is game. He leans into Pearl slightly, begins a slow rhythm of "ba-da-ba-da" and she's off. She's singing soft and sweet, kind of warbly but still good. James has his mouth full of potato, is looking at everyone confused still. Probably something along the lines of, "How did I end up here with the senior citizens of London eating roasted carrots and pearl onions?"

As much as I hate to admit it, Pearl's voice is beautiful. She sings slower than I imagined and Mrs. Denardis is holding hands with her husband. It's too freaking cute for words. It's now or never. Get off your butt, Bella. Do something.

So I do. I place the last dish in the sink, turning off the water. I walk straight over to Edward who is sitting near the buffet table, empty plate in his hands. He's watching Pearl, so enraptured by her quiet singing and George's accompanying that he doesn't notice as I come closer until my hand is outstretched, in his line of vision.

"Dance with me," I say, quietly. He looks confused, from my fingers to my eyes and I nod.

"Please…it'll be too embarrassing if you turn me down now," I whisper and motion to the group. All eyes are on us, including James. Edward stands, hesitantly, looking to his feet and I back up to give him room.

"Just…put that hand here," I laugh and take his wrist in my fingers. He's warm, solid in my hands, heavy as I pull him into place but his hand feels light against my skin beneath the dress. He pulls me close to his chest so that we touch, my eyes right at his mouth. That perfect mouth that I had claimed as my own only hours ago. Was that really today? Did that really even happen?

I take a step back and he follows. Mrs. Maise is laughing lightly, excitedly as we start to move around the room and I'm embarrassed but enjoying it too much to care. Edward is smiling, much to my surprise and I can only see those lips in my line of vision. Pink and drawn against those flashing teeth, hesitant and shy and just as embarrassed as I am and suddenly his grip on my waist tightens. He leans forward and my head falls back. I can see Alice devilishly grinning, upside down as he dips me and Mr. and Mrs. Denardis jump to their little feet. He twirls her under his arm. George, still humming loudly grabs Pearl. Alice can't resist the movement and Jazz…a very unwilling Jasper….is being pulled in her direction towards the door.

We're spinning. I can feel as he guides me away from the living room, to the tiny hallway connecting to the bathroom but I can't protest. I can only cling tight to him as he leads and when I look up his eyes are on my mouth. Pearl is still singing gaily from around the corner and he stops, my back pressed against the wall. His hand that was once resting at my lower back slides up, slowly, reaching the back of my arm and he draws it forward, excruciatingly slow, never taking his eyes from my face. I can feel his fingers on the outside of my left arm, down to my elbow and suddenly up, cupping my face. I know what's coming. Somehow we've reached kiss number two and it's going to be amazing, I can feel it in the tips of my toes. Yet, he doesn't move. He just stands there, holding my cheek, gazing upon my mouth.

"I don't know what to do with you," he breathes and I'm stuck. What?

"I'm sorry?" I ask. This wasn't what I was anticipating. Where is slow, dreamy kiss number two?

"It's like I've spent the past two days thinking about someone I know nothing about. You waiting on tables. You in grey sweatpants. You with paint on your face."

"You saw me"-

"When you're running from place to place you're quite oblivious to everything around you. I almost hit you with my car this afternoon," he smiles. He never raises his voice above a whisper. Pearl is finishing the last of the song in the other room and Mrs. Maise is hooting loudly at whatever has just happened amongst the dancing partners.

"Trust me," he continues letting his thumb run just below my bottom lip, "I'm trying. I've got work to be doing and personal things that need attending to but you were right today. It seems like no matter where I go you end up there and I can't really…fight that. Which is ridiculous, considering how busy you keep yourself," he laughs.

"You hang with an interesting crowd," he smiles and I can feel my cheeks flush.

"I have an interesting…life, I guess."

"You certainly do," he muses. He pauses. He's staring intensely at my face, his eyes moving from one spot to the next. My forehead, my eyes, my lips…each cheek. It's like he can't find a spot to rest on. It's nerve wracking, like I'm being inspected and I'm searching for words to get the attention back to my mouth or eyes. Anything but all of me.

"Come back tonight," I say. I hear my name being called from the living room and he quirks an eyebrow at my suggestion. "I have to clean up," I continue, hesitating back to the room, "but come back tonight. We'll…go for a walk."

"Alright," he smile.

"Alright," I repeat. Step away, Bella. Leave the man before this goes any further.

I can't. He's looking like wants to say more, do more. Like last night when he opened and closed his mouth so many times but nothing came out. He leans in, rolls his forehead off of mine and disappears. Great. Like I can approach the room now. I'm probably flush down to my kneecaps. I turn, step out into the room.

"George kissed Pearl!" Mrs. Denardis shouts before I can take inventory of what's happening. Immediately I'm grateful no one seems to have noticed my disappearance. That is until I see James eyeing me meaningfully from across the room. The rest of their eyes are on George who has dipped Pearl much like Edward dipped me earlier and she's glowing to the ends of her white, permanently set hair. George is looking foolishly proud of himself. Alice is stricken, unsure of what exactly is happening in our living room and I feel like a preschool teacher, rounding up the misbehaving children.

"Alright, alright, take that back to your place George," I laugh, clapping my hands. They're all talking at once, the women giggling like high school girls, the guys stealing the last bits of potato from the pans as they walk passed the buffet table. Jasper offers to lead Mrs. Maise back to her place as the hallways can be difficult to maneuver in her wheel chair and they all start to amble from the room, thanking me for the meal.

Edward is taking Pearl out by the arm while she gazes at him, completely mesmerized and he shoots me a look that lets me know he'll be back as they step out. What I wouldn't give to be Pearl in that moment. Instead, James is clearly waiting for me by the kitchen sink, hands still in pockets. Alice ducks into her room and suddenly, we're the only ones left, standing in my kitchen amongst the mess.

"This is quite a group you have here," he chuckles and I grab a dishtowel.

"They're certainly special," I agree, starting the flow of water.

"I guess I shouldn't have been worried about your arm," he continues slowly, taking a step closer to where I stand.

"Yeah, it looked much worse than it actually was. Thank you though, it was nice of you to stop by," I say. I can feel him directly to my right, his arm inches from my own and it takes everything I have not to turn to look at him. Please, just say goodbye. Please, let's leave it at this.

Instead he places his hand on the crook of my elbow until I'm forced to turn to him and his face is expectant, though I'm not sure for what.

"I hope you don't mind my stopping by," he begins.

"Not at all, like I said. Very nice of you." I try to be quick, unconcerned but he's leaning in closer.

"I've been thinking about you a lot actually…ever since that night we got you to sing…" and he's drawing circles along my arm. Tracing the line of my scratch.

"Well, it was terrible and therefore, hard to erase from any mind," I laugh. He's not taking the bait. His thumb is on the crook of my elbow, taking a step impossibly closer. I can smell him. Potato. Cologne. More potato.

"It wasn't terrible Bella, how many times do I have to tell you?"

"I don't think we're ever going to see eye to eye on that exactly," I try and giggle. The problem is that he's invaded my space so completely there's no mistaking what's happening. It's not like with Edward. It's not how I couldn't tell and suddenly it was there. He's looming, sideways smiling as he does so, playing my arm like a keyboard and I don't know how to duck and cover with the stove to my back and his looming in front of me.

"James…" I begin. I don't have to finish.

"Bella, I just wanted to be clear about one thing," a voice calls and Edward is striding into the room. I see James' face register shock for a split second because before I know what's happening Edward is stepping between us. He's grabbing me around the waist, pulling me to him and plants a kiss against my lips so fierce, I can't breathe in. Harder, he pushes and I feel his tongue run along the edge of my lip, guiding me open. I can feel a sound loosen from my throat, a slight moan of surprise but he catches it, traces those teeth…oh, those teeth against my bottom lip as he does it again. I can feel both of his hands, warm and large run up my sides, against my rib cage, brushing the sides of my chest, to my collar bones, my neck and then both cheeks and still he doesn't stop. I can feel heat from his body along the entire length of me and if my knees were a mess before, they're gone now. He kisses me softly twice, slowly, like each time he goes to pull away he can't help but come back for one more and I can't blame him.

"I just wanted to be clear…about that," he whispers. I nod, swallow. Cannot form words.

"I'll see you this evening then," he says, loud enough for James to hear and he steps away, grazing his thumb against my cheek once again and I smile at him. Grateful. Hot and bothered. I can't decide.

I turn and James isn't looking at me anymore. He's widened the space between us, considerably, considering Edward at one point had to fit there but there's something obviously different. He's no longer looming. He jams his thumbs in his back pockets and like a petulant child, shrugs indifferently without meeting my gaze.

"I should probably head out," is all he says and looks around the room.

"Thanks for dinner," he offers.

"Mm-hmm" I answer. I still can't form words. I've got my hands to my mouth, can feel all the heat rising to my cheeks. My armpits are sweating profusely and I brace the stove for strength. I can't even see James right now. He could be doing the rhumba to get my attention and all I would see is Edward's shy smile, his hands on my face.

He leaves then, only a slight wave as he goes and I fumble my way around the kitchen, grabbing left over plates and pants, napkins. I vaguely recall jamming it all into the dishwasher, loading the large pants into a sink full of water. I might have put the table back where it belonged, I'm not really sure, but I certainly made it back to my room, closed the door behind me and flopped facedown onto the bed. Hugging a pillow to my chest, I replay this kiss the same way I did earlier only a pillow is much easier to pretend with than a five year old on a swing. He's all I see. He's all I dream about.

*********************************************************************

There is the feel of something brushing my face, like feathers and I brush hard, not wanting to open my eyes. It was the kind of thing Jacob would do to piss me off early in the morning, before I was ready to wake up. He liked teasing me with his shoelaces, hovering over the edge of the bed before he left, running them along my face until I got so irritated I had to wake up.

There is the feel of something again, against my eyelid and I reach up to brush it away. It's probably Felix, demanding to be fed. It'll only be a matter of minutes before he's actually gnawing on my toes. Please, please, give me five more minutes, please.

Again, this time on the other eyelid and I'm about to lash out irrationally when a hand grazes my cheek, pushing the hair away that is stuck there with my sweat. It's a person. My eyes fly open.

Edward is sitting on the edge of my bed. Looking a little disheveled, he smiles at me, clearly amused. He pushes one hand through his hair and leans over me forming a triangle out of his body and the arm that rests on my opposite side, holding himself up.

"Hi," he whispers. Barely audible. I want to scream in shock and embarrassment but he's using the cute voice. The "just woke up" voice for my sake. I can't ignore that.

"Hi," I answer and rub my face. I'm a mess. I'm hot and tangled in my sheets and somehow it's gotten dark outside already. How long have I been asleep for?

"How long have you been here?" I ask, looking around frantically.

"A few minutes. I let myself in, Alice isn't around I don't think," he says and his free hand comes out again to touch my lips with his fingertips. Gentle. Just touching, for no reason.

"I'm so sorry…I can't believe I fell asleep, I was supposed to get more cleaning done and put on clothes that aren't…this," I say aghast, looking down at the dress that is riding up my torso, leaving my legs completely bare. I can just feel my hair, that was once so smooth and bouncy is probably sticking up on one side.

"It's fine…look, I wore comfortable clothes," he answers and I see he is, in fact, in an odd outfit of sweatpants and a hoody. Gray and blue. I didn't know Edward was the type to even own sweats. Why must everything look that way on him?

"I'm going to get changed," I sigh and he looms closer.

"Just…don't move for a second, ok?" he asks and then, brushes his nose gently against my forehead. It's intoxicating touching him. I can't breathe or think as he runs softly, only the edge of his nose and then a cheek against my face and as he passes over my lips he leaves a kiss, soft, barely there, before moving on. He pulls away, too soon in my opinion and I'm left staring at him. Completely in awe.

"Ok," he says and stands to his feet, "I'll let you change."

"Excuse me," I can't help but laugh and sit forward, "I think we need to discuss the ridiculous manner in which you have left me, what, three times now today? New rule," I declare and a smile is playing on those lips as he looks at me expectantly, "No more kissing and jetting. You kiss, you stay until I say you can go." I'm trying to remain stern but his doubtful gaze is cracking me.

"I don't think that will work out so well, Bella," he says.

"Why not?" I demand and he crosses his arms across his chest, looking at me for a few seconds before answering.

"Because I've never had to drag myself away from kissing anyone the way I have three times today. Between having to pull myself away and waiting for your permission to go at all, I feel like we won't get very far apart ever," he muses. His tone is completely serious. Honest.

"You're so…confusing," I utter and this causes a laugh to erupt from him, leaning his head back as he does so.

"I'm confusing? I'm sorry, I saw you wearing paint today…you do realize that, don't you? Your life is an anomaly to me. How am I confusing?" he chuckles and I kneel up on the bed, trying to smooth the hair down on my head as I do so.

"Are you kidding me, broody?" I begin and he starts at the nickname, clearly amused further. "You show up in town all 'oohhh, I have attitude, I'm too tired and busy to have more than one beer' at Carlisle and Esme's and you don't get along with Emmett or Rosalie, it doesn't seem and all I hear is about how you can't share a room or have a girlfriend with anybody and then! Then you offer"-

"Wait," he says and his tone is obviously different, his lips drawn a little, "who told you that? About not sharing and no girlfriends?"

"I- I don't…" I falter and I'm trying to think. Crap. Was that a secret? Was I not supposed to know those things?

"Did Emmett talk to you about me?" he asks and I'm still fumbling for the words.

"He didn't talk to me about you he just…he just mentioned that you probably weren't dating Rosalie because you didn't really date and then"-

"Dating Rosalie!" he says, the laughter returning to his face slightly and he takes a seat on the edge of the bed once again, clearly confused with what we're discussing.

"Yeah, I made a comment about the two of you being together and he said there was no way and blah blah"-

"So you were asking about me?" he interrupts. Oh crap…again.

"Look, I'm in the middle of explaining how confusing you are and you're just making it more…confusing, actually," I sigh. I scoot closer on my knees until I'm positioned next to him and I sit, both of us facing forward with our feet hanging off the comforter.

"You just seemed like this really serious…dude. Like, irritated with everyone and so hard to approach. It's why I felt so bad that day you took me to the wedding and when you took care of me. You seem put out so often and I just…I don't know why you kissed me today. I don't know why you are even here now, actually," I continue, looking to my fingers. God, that's embarrassing to admit out loud. Self pity, party of one this way.

"You don't know why I'm here now?" he repeats. His voice is unreadable. I can't tell if he's annoyed or amused and therefore, I don't know how to answer. I don't want to look at his face.

"It's just….it just doesn't make any sense. You don't know me at all and suddenly you're spending whole afternoons with me and kissing me over coffee and I don't know…it confuses a girl."

"Yeah…I can see how it could do that," he mumbles and he's nodding his head. Well, this is unexpected.

"You have to know though, that…you're probably much more surprising yourself, Bella, than you think," he continues. I furrow my brows at the comment. I'm not confusing. Hello? Jeans and t-shirt, babysitting and English teaching…cooking and cleaning. What is there to be confused about?

"I expected to show up this week and get my work done and spend the obligatory week humoring a brother I have nothing in common with and instead, right off the bat, is this girl, this breath taking girl who walks around like she has no idea what she looks like and couldn't care less. Unwashed hair," he laughs, fingering the ends of my hair slightly and I can feel myself blush, "and messy clothes and you drop half the things you pick up and then I hear how you've got all these hidden talents! You work at book stores and volunteer to take pictures at people's weddings and…paint, apparently," he laughs again, "and on top of it all it's like you don't even realize how much you're helping people or how much they appreciate you or how beautiful you look while doing all of it. You run from one place to the next with your head down and your hands open. It's so surprising…it's the craziest thing I've ever seen in a human being…in my life, ever," he says and when he stops I can feel his eyes on me. Burning a hole into my head, waiting for me to acknowledge him there.

"It's not quite that…simple," I begin and stop.

"I didn't think it was," he answers and I turn to look at his face. Those kind eyes, so close to my own, sympathetic and understanding. "It doesn't mean I don't think it's any less amazing. When you run away from something, you open up your arms and when I run away from something, I push until mine are closed."

We sit that way for several seconds in complete silence. I'm dying to ask him what he's running from or how he knows there's something more behind my motives than plain out boredom but I can't bring myself to form the words. Suddenly, he leans back, breaking our trance.

"And I kissed you today because I couldn't not kiss you, actually," he says , a smile spreading across his face. "You were so pissed off. You looked ridiculous, storming out with your coffee and then I saw you stop on the sidewalk and I knew you were debating about how rude it had been. Like you were going back and forth in your head, do I go back, do I leave and I wanted to follow you so badly. I didn't mean to insult you with my apology and I didn't mean to confuse you but…but you've definitely confused me so I'd say we're about even." He shakes his head as he finishes and I can't help but laugh as well.

"Am I that easy to read?" I mutter out loud to which he shakes his head again.

"No…not at all. You're different from anyone I've ever met and I'm torn between just leaving you alone and…and sticking around you to learn more."

"And what have you decided?" I ask to which he draws his face up slowly, looking slightly abashed that I don't know the answer.

"Well, I guess I'm lucky in that…well, I don't have to choose…it's just…I have to leave Bella. I work in the states. I have to go home in a week."

Do you know how sometimes people say things to you that make time actually stop? Your mom admits, ok, there is no Santa Claus and in your head you're screaming 'HOLD IT' but on the outside you're trying to act like you knew it all along? The love note you got in your locket was a cruel joke from a not so good friend, not actually the boy you liked….the movie ended with the bad guy getting away and the Romeo and Juliet actually do die in the end and the first time you read it you go, 'Shakespeare….are you kidding me?'

None of those really compared to this moment. I'm trying not to let that shock resonate on my face. Like this hasn't been difficult enough already. Like James hasn't gotten in the way or the fact that Edward and I are so completely polar opposite or the fact that I refuse to let myself even slow down so I won't remember my first love let alone allow myself to find a new one. All of these thoughts race through my head as I'm staring into his face, while he waits for me to respond and I swallow, hard. My stomach hit's the ground. Don't cry. Don't be stupid. Don't cry.

"Of course," I nod. Try and smile as I do so. I'm fine with this. This was just a couple good kisses one weekend. I'll have a ton of these with a ton of other guys.

"But I'd like to…you know, in between work, spend some more time together," he smiles and I force to mimic him, plastering one of my own face.

"Of course," I agree.

"Maybe you're right about the whole…the kissing and everything maybe that…"he trails off as he motions between us. Is he kidding? No more kisses? No more intimate moments where I wake up to him grazing my face?

"I mean, if you think that's a good idea," I saw slowly. I don't even know how to respond to this nonsense.

"I guess I didn't really consider my leaving at the time. It was an impulse. It was when…when we were sitting on the couch and you were in those pajamas. Those little gray pants and you had a cup of tea and a blanket and you just looked incredibly warm and comfortable. Beautiful. I wanted to kiss you then and I guess I haven't stopped thinking about it since then," he admits and if I'm not mistaken, is blushing slightly as he recalls the moment. It is kind of flattering. I'm trying not to let it get to my head.

"Well, you've had your moment. You certainly had a moment in front of James today," I say dryly and even as I think about it now, my stomach is in wrenches. Who kisses a girl like that in front of a boy when he doesn't have any intention of dating her or at least…of getting a few more kisses out of the mix?

"I'm sorry, you looked like you were in desperate need of saving there. He was practically stalking you that first night I was in town," he says with a slight shudder, "it was ridiculous. I didn't want him bothering you."

"Bothering me or dating me?" I ask before it's too late. It just slipped out and he looks to me, confused.

"I'm sorry…I was under the impression you didn't want to date him or, be left alone even with him today."

"No…no it's fine," I try and recover, "I appreciate that. James and I wouldn't be a good fit."

"Right, because he's an ass."

"He's not that terrible," I respond to which Edward scoffs.

"Let's not argue about it," I continue, shaking my head, "it's not really important. I mean…you've got a week so let's just…I don't know. What do you want to do?" I ask glumly. Because really, he's ruled out the fun. He's ruled out my mysterious romance. He's ruled out my distraction.

"Well, I still have work to get done but I'd like to spend more time together. I mean, if that's alright with you," he says and I nod, slowly.

"Yeah. Spending time together sounds good."

"Good."

"Great." We're back to where we started. The place we can't seem to get out of.

"So what do you want to do tonight?" I ask, standing to my feet and he smiles, lightly, thinking to himself.

"Actually I thought we might go…bother Emmett and Rosalie," he says with a wicked grin. I'm lost.

"Bother them?" I ask to which he laughs, stands, extends his hand for me to take.

"You'll see," he says and pulls me from the room and as we leave, he grabs my bag from the chair in the corner, slinging it over his arm as he does so.


	9. Pictures of You

"I'm sorry," I ask as we are walking briskly from my building, the cold night air hitting my cheeks the second we step outside. "What's the sudden interest in Rosalie and Emmett?"

"Well, it's not so much that I'm interested," he begins, looking both ways before leading me across the block, "it's just that they're so determined for everyone NOT to be interested." He's smiling as he walks, knowingly, and I'm completely confused.

"I don't get it," I admit and he shakes his head.

"You'll see," is all he offers. We continue down the block and I can see that Ernie and Emma are in their shop, turning down the lights. It's not as late as I thought…maybe 6:30 in the evening? That's usually their turn in time on Sunday's, just because they have to be there at four on Monday mornings. I know, I've been there on nights I just can't sleep and surprisingly, they're always ready for me.

We continue down the block, my bag swinging from Edward's shoulder. We walk passed Seville's which is light with the dinner crowd. Mostly older people, I'm familiar from the few Sunday's I've helped them out. Esme is leaning over a corner booth, talking with a pair of old ladies and her face is rosy, smiling as she refills their cups with steaming liquid from a tea pot. Seville's is so odd to me, yet so familiar at the same time. One minute it's jamming, full up with a young crowd performing live and impromptu on stage and the next day you come in to find the Senior Citizen's getting their fill of her potato soup. I don't know how they keep up with it and each other, really. I don't know how they all do it. Ernie and Emma, Carlisle and Esme, even Jasper and Alice. Work and get their routines down and still find time to get absolutely in love with one another like it's the easiest thing. Like there's no effort involved.

We keep going, further down the block and as we pass the corner where Alice and I usually part ways and I can see my school looming in the distance, I begin to get curious. I don't usually go any further than this. I look to Edward curiously.

"We're almost there," he says, not looking my way, simply sensing my eyes on him and I huff. I don't actually like being kept in the dark.

We've reached the point in the walk where the sidewalk ends and the merchant's are getting further in the distance behind us. This is where the countryside of our small town starts, where the fields are extending before us and the long walk ways up to cozy cottages start. I can see the Breckmeyer house to the north a little ways, smoke rising from the chimney. Houses made of stone and so many trees on their plots, in the light of day you can just feel fall all around you with the yellows, oranges, reds and golds. What I wouldn't give to live here instead of our apartment. Don't get me wrong, I love our street and the small town feel but here…here it's like you can escape to your house and pretend you're the only ones for miles. If you had someone, that is, to curl up with.

I'm about to ask Edward one more time, really losing my patience when we stop suddenly, on the edge of the Breckmeyer pond. While it's not theirs, simply bordering their property, everyone calls it that. It's small, maybe a quarter of a mile in diameter, shaded by trees that overhang. They keep it enclosed with their property with their two post wooden fence that runs the entire circumference but insist on letting anyone in town use it for summer swimming or fishing. Feeding the ducks. I'm not a big 'pond swimmer'. I'm actually not much of a swimmer, period, but something about lakes and streams bothers me. Fish. That's what bothers me. I can't stand the thought of something nibbling at my toes no matter how hot it gets here. It's a cute pond though, the whole two times I've been around it. A good spot to read by, if I ever let myself slow down long enough to get some reading done.

"Edward," I hiss, though I'm not sure why I'm whispering as we approach and his pace has slowed considerably, "What are we doing here?"

"That's odd," he's mumbling to himself as we stop on the edge of the fence and he leans up against it, peering from side to side. "I swore I heard them say…" He trails off and then, nimbly leaps over the side of the fence with both feet at once swinging to the left. Well, then.

"Oof," I sigh and start to hurl myself over in a less sophisticated way when his hands come up. Taking my fingers in his own he guides me as I step up and over the fence though his attention is somewhere else. He lets go of my hands, places his own on his hips and turns in spot.

"Edward this is actually kind of creep"-

"Shh," he whispers urgently and I clasp my hand over my mouth. What? What?!

"There," he says, barely a sigh from his mouth and he's pointing. On the other side of the pond, leaning against a small tree is Rosalie. She's laughing, though she's far enough away that I can't hear her, just make out that head thrown look. Her legs are outstretched, her sweater unbuttoned and loose and she has feet delicately placed in Emmett's lap. He's leaning against one arm, talking, picking the grass as he does so.

"Is this…"

"A date," Edward confirms.

"How did you know they'd be here?"

"Rosalie's been really odd the last two days. We were supposed to meet partners for a business meeting this afternoon and she called to say something came up. Esme says Emmett's been 'busy' since last night. I don't think I'm supposed to know."

"Maybe nothings going on. Maybe she just feels like playing hooky," I suggest.

"Which would be fine…I'd love to play some hooky," he shrugs, "but Rosalie and I don't do that kind of stuff. Usually if I ask her what's going on she's honest. She's not being honest about this."

"Honest about what?" I ask, growing slightly irritated. Why do we care what Rosalie and Emmett are up to? So they get along, so what?

"I asked her on the phone today if she was dating my brother and she acted insulted."

"So she's not dating him, they're just hanging out," I muse. Edward leans closer to me, peering over my shoulder as he does so and holds out a finger.

"Then, explain that," he whispers. I turn. Emmett's face is pressed up to Rosalie's cheek, nose deep in her ear. Even with the distance this is not just a "you smell nice, is that a new shampoo" nuzzle. This is intimate. Those are kisses being left in a trail on the nape of her neck.

"Holy shit," I hear myself murmur before the words can escape. Really? REALLY?! She's here for two days and yes, I'm fully aware she's a knockout but suddenly it's becoming painfully clear to me that I am the only one who will never have a successful relationship. I attract losers and boys instead of men. I like you, let's kiss, have I mentioned I'm leaving? I flirt with you, I flirt with everyone, how about I show up unexpectedly on your doorstep and you end up rejecting me for an even BIGGER loser? To top it all off, I get proposed to and LEAVE THE COUNTRY??

I'm dumbfounded, watching them until Edward is pulling on my arm, dragging me back to reality.

"They're going to see us," he smiles and we're retreating, walking backwards behind the cover of a tree. It's just beginning to get dark out and with the shade of this and many other oaks, hopefully we're hidden. I can feel Edward's arms snake around my waist, retreating me further but I can't seem to tear my eyes off of them.

"How did you know about this?" I ask impatiently.

"I don't know, I just had a feeling. I tried calling her cell twice today, no answer. She canceled that meeting for work and when I stopped by her hotel tonight she wasn't there."

"No, about here. How did you know they would be here?"

"I got a hold of Emmett earlier today and he said he had to get some studying done."

"Oh, Emmett," I sigh. Studying? Why not just cut the crap and say video games?

"Exactly," Edward laughs, "and when I stopped by Carlisle and Esme's this evening after dinner they said him and Rose had just been there and were going to take a walk down to this pond."

"But…why keep it a secret from you? I mean, if Carlisle and Esme have seen them together and everything, it doesn't make a lot of sense."

"Ehm…I'm not really sure I guess." He shrugs, looks towards them.

"So what are we doing here?" I ask, turning to him suddenly, "are we busting them?" I'm nervous. I've never had to catch someone red handed at something before. Frankly, it's not me they're keeping it from, really, so it wouldn't even be that. I would be the good cop out of this whole deal. However, Edward looks torn.

"I don't know exactly. I was so thrown by the whole thing I had to come down here and see for myself. I figured if it were true, we had one of three options," he muses and he crosses his arm, placing his fingers to his chin while we watch them. Emmett has got Rosalie pinned to the tree while he tickles at her chest and I can hear her screaming out wildly in protest. It's adorable. Why are we here to break this up, again?

"We can either approach them…call them out on their lies. We can stumble upon them…get them a little flustered and see how they get out of it," he chuckles, mischievously to himself.

"Or?" I prompt. Frankly, neither of the first two options sound very appealing.

"Or…you can do what you do best," he says and he hands me my bag from his shoulder. "Take it without them knowing."

"Excuse me?" I ask, letting the leather strap fall between my fingertips.

"I saw you at that wedding, Bella," he says, "you take pictures of the things nobody else sees. In fact, for a person with a job to do, you were very unprofessional."

"In case you didn't notice, I never claimed to be a professional," I say hotly to which he smiles.

"That's what's great about it actually. You didn't want to take professional photographs and they didn't want those anyway. So go ahead," he prompts, pointing to the unknowing Emmett and Rosalie, still laughing quietly to themselves in the distance. "Take the picture."

Of course, I never pictured us doing this. I don't even have that great of a camera. It's not digital, the zoom is more or less a very foggy magnified version of everything and more often than not the film will skip a frame and I'll only end up with half a roll. It's a hand me down from Charlie before I left to send him pictures of our new place and my new job. I've yet to send those photos. I've yet to do more than call him and tell him I'm doing fine, I have to run, miss you.

I stare at Edward for several seconds until I get the point, his gaze stony, encouragingly straight as he stares back. He really wants me to take their picture. I lift the lid in my bag, withdraw my camera and snap off the lid, looking to him one more time for confirmation. He doesn't smile, doesn't say a word, just nods and I step from behind the tree, camera in hands.

Rosalie has her head back lazily, her hair tumbling off her shoulders and her knees bent in Emmett's lap while he talks, what he's saying I'm not sure, but it doesn't really matter. It's in the way he's tracing his fingers along her bare kneecap, watching her laugh lightly and responds, jerking her knees hesitantly every now and again. I crouch, feeling more like a peeping tom than an artist really, and aim my camera.

Snap. Emmett with his hand on the back of her neck, his thumb playing on her cheek.

Snap. Rosalie's laughing, hard, wildly. God, can that boy make her smile.

Snap. A kiss so intense between them, I can't stand to keep watching. I look long enough to get them in my frame, to see her hand sweep from the ground where she was resting against it until it cups his face and then, I look away.

Somewhere in the midst of my taking pictures, Edward has gotten down next to me. He's crouched, hugging tightly to my right side and when I look up he's looking not at them, but at me. He's watching me intently and when I bring my gaze to his own he holds it for only a second before seemingly ashamed, he darts back to them.

I've gotten all I can really get from this angle and so softly, as to not make too much crunching noises with my shoes against the leaves, I walk to the opposite side of the tree. I grasp it with one hand for support and lean far out to the left. From here I can see Emmett's arm, hugging her knees tight to his chest. She has her eyes closed. I take a final snapshot, of his looking at her while her gaze has fallen to the ground and then I stop.

"I don't want to do this anymore," I say and turning on my heel, grabbing my bag from the ground, I begin the walk back to the fence. I can hear Edward hot on my trail. He doesn't talk as we reach the border of the property, doesn't offer a hand as I sling my bag over the side and heft myself up and over, hardly stumbling as we make it over the edge. He just stays close behind me as I push on until we reach the road, and I'm kicking rocks, keeping my eyes straight ahead.

Finally, we make it back to the edge of town and the sidewalk begins. For some reason he feels it's ok to talk now and I hear him clear his throat behind me.

"I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," I answer quickly.

"You seem upset."

"I'm not," I insist. Where is my flat? Where is Alice and my pajamas? Why am I still in this ridiculous dress, spying on young lovers on a Sunday evening with a man who will be leaving in a week and doesn't want to kiss me anymore?

"Bella," he calls and when I don't stop I feel his fingers on my wrist.

"Bella," he says again softly. I slow down, turn to look at him hesitantly. His face is full of remorse, his lip clenched between his teeth.

"I didn't know," is all he offers. I nod, curtly.

"I'm fine."

"I know that…I'm still sorry."

"Don't be."

We stand that way on the sidewalk, just approaching mine and Alice's separation corner. I can feel a breeze kick up and Edward shrugs out of his hoody, draping it over my shoulders.

"I'm parked right up there…I should get back to my hotel," he says. I nod again.

"I have to stop by Seville's, see when I'm on the schedule," I respond.

"Alright. Will you be around tomorrow or are you…I don't know, running a blood drive or something?" he laughs lightly. I can't help but smile.

"I work until 3 and then I…I have somewhere to be until about six or so," I answer.

"Somewhere to be?" he prompts.

"Yeah, I'm running a volunteer group at the park…with my students." The plans had originally been to meet together at our neighborhood park, rake the leaves and throw down the mulch before winter hit, wrapping up with some free cider at Ernie's. In all honesty, I wouldn't be surprised if only half the students showed, threw leaves at one another for fifteen minutes before an impromptu football game and called it quits while I stood there, knee deep in empty garbage bags. Still, it was the thought that counted and Jessica had put the group together herself for something to throw on her college applications. I couldn't very well tell the girl I wouldn't supervise.

"The park by the high school," Edward confirms and I nod again.

"Alright then," he says and with a nod, begins walking backwards, turns, leaves me walking alone on my way to Seville's. I can see with the coming of the dusk the seats are emptying. Carlisle is wiping down the bar, Esme is nowhere to be seen when I walk in.

I greet the hostess, hug the hoody around my shoulders tighter. Why didn't I change out of this ridiculous dress earlier? Carlisle looks up as I approach and throws me a smile.

"Bella," he calls, waving me over, "glad to see you've recovered."

"Oh, that" I say, gesturing to my arm, "yep, good as new."

"Well, I told Edward to take special care of you that night. I hope he followed through."

"Sure did," I quip. I want to add dryly that he has no idea how well he followed through but it's not really important. I glance around but before I can form the words, Carlisle is sliding a glass of ale to a waiting customer and saying, "She's in the kitchen. I think she wants to get a head start on Wednesday's menu." I nod a thanks and head back to the kitchen.

Most of the wait staff are gone for the night, save for one cook and a bored looking waitress who's chewing her gum and flipping through a magazine from a stool in the corner. Esme, just as Carlisle predicted, is writing delicately against a yellow legal pad, checking lists pinned up against the back cupboards, erasing as she changes her mind. She looks up and smiles at me as I come in.

"Bella. What a lovely surprise."

"Just though I'd check the schedule," I answer to which she points at the back office door. It's displayed right below the calendar and I check. Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Just how I like it and I give Esme a thankful smile.

"What do you think we should do? Wings or fish and chips for the game?" she asks, holding the pen to her lips. Esme has a gift for cooking anything though I've never seen the woman take a bite of any of it in the entire time I've known her. She's been asking to get me in this kitchen, share my recipe for orange spice cupcakes with her but I can't seem to drag myself in there yet. Serving people is one thing, there really is nothing they can complain about to me. Having them sample my food, save for a few old folks who are happy with dry pot roast and carrots, is something different entirely. Especially in an establishment. An establishment that depends on people eating it's food for income.

"Thanks Esme," I call heading for the door and I hear her call out to me.

"Bella, honey…stay for a minute." I turn and she's looking to me expectantly, gesturing the waiting stool. I shrug, step forward and sit down while she hovers over the menu once again.

"I heard you made a lovely dinner this evening, once again," she muses and I nod, swinging my feet that don't quite reach the floor from this height.

"It's not hard to please the old. If they can chew it, they'll eat it." I hear her soft chuckle as she makes a line through one of the items on her menu, scribbling something in it's place.

"How do you feel about nachos?" she asks with a devilish grin and I laugh, nodding in response.

"Make sure you use those jalapenos from that store around the corner. Those were a big hit last time," I add and she keeps scribbling on her page, peeking in a cupboard over head before making another note.

"And I'll offer the Brownie Supreme or….ooh, apple pie for dessert," she says with a definitive swirl of her pen. Menu complete.

"Sounds good."

With that done, she sets her notepad down on the counter and looks to me. Her face is drawn, only the slightest bit, but still warm and friendly in a way that only Esme knows how to look. She reminds me of my mom, if my mom were more motherly and less 'want to be your friend'. Still, young, pretty…full of energy and excitement, warm and cozy when needed. I don't talk to her as often as I should really. Apparently, she's noticed as well.

"Bella," she begins and she places her fingertips together, trying to pull together her thoughts, "Bella I wanted to talk to you a little bit…about…things," she tries. I can't help but laugh at her attempt and her cheeks grow red at my outburst.

"Let's try that again," she chuckles and pulls up an accompanying stool to the counter, sitting across from me.

"It's just that, honey, Carlisle and I have been talking a bit recently. About everything, really, but you in particular. How you're doing here, adjusting to the neighborhood and the people."

"I think I'm adjusting fine, Esme," I offer, trying to see where this is going, "I love the neighborhood. I love my job, the kids…all of that."

"It's just that….well you seemed actually really down on Friday when you came to work and I was just worried a bit about you. You know if something's bothering you, you can always come and speak to me, right?" she asks, her face encouraging and I nod profusely.

"Of course."

"I'm so nosey," she sighs, placing her hand to her face and shaking her head. "I swear, I tried talking to Edward earlier about his problems and he just stared at me like I completely lost my mind. It's not even my place, I know that I just worry about you kids. All of you, Emmett too…about you being happy and everything."

"Well, I'm happy Esme…really, I'm fine."

"You all just work so hard," she continues and I can see the worry lines at the corner of her eyes are beginning to form as she holds out a hand and cups my own in between her gentle fingers. "All of you. Emmett and school, Edward and that company. And you, especially you….honey you run yourself all over the neighborhood from one job to the next. I mean, if this is about….about money," she says, bordering on the word tersely, looking embarrassed to even say anything, "then please…Carlisle and I would be happy to have you helping here for a lot more, there's so much more you could be doing and you wouldn't have to work nearly as hard as you do. We have more than enough, with the inheritance and from the business, we would hate to see any of you kids in need and not be able to help. We want to help."

"Oh Esme, no, I'm fine…really. I have plenty of money," I laugh, shaking my hands. If she only knew that really, money was the last thing on my mind. Sure, I wasn't a millionaire, I had to save up for the occasional new jacket or my ever expanding book shelves but who didn't? No, money wasn't really any problem.

"I like staying busy, really. I'm happy with my jobs."

She studies me for a moment and sighs, heavily.

"You and Edward are so alike. That's exactly what he said when I talked to him earlier," she resigns, shaking her head. As if she's struck out twice. As if she's failed twice.

"He said what earlier?" I ask, unable to resist.

"Just that he likes to work. He likes to stay busy, he doesn't mind the hours or the job, but really…I mean, just looking at him, I can tell he isn't happy. I know he's Carlisle's nephew…I know it isn't any of my business but in all the years I've been with their family this is the first weekend I've ever seen him smile! Really, smile and I can't figure out what to do with him. If he was happy here, he should stay. He would be welcome to stay, Carlisle and I told him so, we'd love for him to come live with us and Emmett but he refused. Said he was here to get some work done and that they needed him back at home. And now with Emmett and Rosalie I just…" and she trails off, really unaware that I'm even still listening until her gaze comes back to my eyes, widened with her admittal.

"Emmett and Rosalie…?" I lead and her cheeks grow even more red with the realization.

"Just that they…get along so well."

"Esme…"I try again, my voice growing suspicious.

"Oh Bella, I'm not supposed to say anything!" she whispers harshly, her eyes leading to the door but before I know what's happening she's leaning in, whispering to me frantically.

"He's totally head over heels for her, really, Bella it's crazy. He can't stop talking about her and she's just…just so lovely, and funny and perfect for him. I've never seen a girl really appreciate Emmett like Rosalie does, laughs at everything he says. They've spent every minute together since they've been here, I don't know what will happen when she has to go back. He's just so happy!" she exclaims again, as if the world is coming to an end. There is a love that radiates in Esme for all of her friends and family, I can see that now as she worries about Emmett's weekend love affair and how it will leave him at the end of the week. It almost breaks my heart, to see how much hers is breaking.

"It'll be fine," I try and reassure her, "if it was meant to be it was meant to be."

"I know," she sighs in admittance, "I just want it so badly for him, you know?"

"I know," I affirm. I do know. She wants him to be happy. What's so bad about that?

"And you," she says suddenly, sitting up straighter and I'm a little struck at her determination, "I know something's going on with you and Edward. I don't know what it is, but I've seen his face around you," and she's smiling. I feel my eyebrows furrow, trying to play dumb.

"I don't know"-

"Sweet heart, I'm not saying you did anything," she laughs, trying to calm my worries, "I'm just saying that I've never seen him look at anyone the way he's been looking at you. All of Saturday night I was trying to talk to him, ask him questions and he just kept following you around the room with his eyes. He was the first person to notice you got hurt, within moments actually…"she says, recalling the incident.

"Well, Esme, like you said. Even if that was the case, he's leaving in a week and it wouldn't really work out. He likes his work, I like my work…we're staying put." I pat my lap with my hands to emphasize the point. Staying put. Nothing here. Nada.

"And like you said," she stands up with a knowing smile, turning back to her list, "if it's meant to be, it was meant to be."

"I don't think that really applies to Edward and myself."

"Honey, what are you wearing?" she asks. I look down to Alice's red dress, my camera bag slung over my shoulder…Edward's hoody wrapped tightly around my arms.

"He saw that I was cold…he was being polite…"I begin and she just smiles still, warmly, sweetly.

"Did you know we stayed up pretty late, this past Friday?" she asks and I shake my head, not sure where this is going.

"The boys were up, drinking and talking. Rosalie went back to her hotel and I was pretty far gone myself, but Edward and Carlisle mainly, were at the bar. Just talking, catching up. And I remember when I was coming out of the kitchen, just before he was heading out that Edward asked how we had met you. Do you remember how we met?" she asks me.

"It wasn't that long ago," I laugh, shaking with embarrassment.

"Well, Carlisle told him," Esme chuckles as well, "about the only waitress he ever hired who actually fell during her interview. That the only reason you had an interview in the first place was because you could recite all the different names of beer on tap back to him on the first try and how on the night you started you didn't talk to anyone the entire evening but knew with such certainty, without any hesitation, where the fire extinguisher was after Bill knocked over that candle and the entire tablecloth caught flame."

Even as she's retelling that first night, I don't know really how I kept this job. I can see Bill, a regular, covered in extinguisher foam from head to toe, it filling his beer mug and his mouth while I hold it in midair, unsure of what just happened before Esme came running over to do damage control.

"He told Edward," Esme continues, leaning against the counter, "that from the moment he met you he knew you were someone to keep around. You notice the little things no one else does…you have a mind for people and a love for helping the way no one else does. And Edward said, quite simply, in response that he only noticed one thing about you."

"And what was that?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer.

"How in the same way you didn't miss a thing going on in that room, no one could seem to take their eyes off of you. Himself included. And then he left."

With that she picks up a towel, throws me a wink and leaves the kitchen.

Completely dumbfounded. Tears, wet on my cheeks, clinging to Edward's hoody.


	10. One Dozen Eggs

**A/N: Sorry I've been a little tied up the past couple of days, I promise I haven't forgotten you! Hopefully all the school stuff Bella does during the day doesn't bore everyone, I know we all love us a healthy dose of Edward but it's going somewhere, I promise.**

**Enjoy reading, I love to hear your thoughts and opinions and as always, nothing really belongs to me:)**

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My morning began per usual. Alice rushing me out the door with one final, sweeping glance of distaste at my outfit. Hot chocolate mugs from our last night cry on the couch still soaking in the sink. Eyes, puffy from tears. Hair, a hot mess. I was trying to have a brighter outlook on life. I was trying to do as Alice instructed me to last night.

"Bella," she sighed, curling up with me on the couch, her little hands pulling my fingers down from my face. I was splotchy, runny from every orifice but she held my chin in her hands as she spoke smooth and calmly.

"He's a jerk. He'll be gone in a week. He doesn't have any concept of repercussions for his actions because he's selfish and demonic." It was so simple the way she put it, so cut and dry. How did I explain to her that for the first time it felt like someone was seeing me when I spent so much time and energy trying to keep myself hidden? How did I tell her the way he kissed was like my mouth was on fire, like my body was melting from such overexposure? I found his quiet watching alluring and mysterious. I was such a hopeless, pathetic, sick to my stomach girl.

"What do I do about the rest of the week?" I asked meekly, trying to imagine what it would be like. Him, acting like everything was fine and normal, enjoying some pleasant conversation about my erratic lifestyle while I drooled over him like a pathetic puppy. It was too much to take.

"You ignore him. You couldn't care less," she breezed, waving a hand to demonstrate. "So he shows up everywhere you go? Fine, go for it stud. You're too busy to really notice him. Don't wait on him at Seville's," she eyed me daringly, "don't invite him places, don't pay him any more attention than necessary when he conveniently shows up everywhere. Ernie's, the park, our door step…whatever. Bella," she said, pulling my attention in, "I don't know why these boys are messing with you like this. Ponyboy and his sudden attraction, Mr. Mystery from the states…it's just not your week. We'll get through this. It's going to be fine." With that she placed a quick kiss on my forehead. We spent the rest of the evening in quiet, watching terrible movies with our legs draped over one another on the couch. I woke up this morning with Alice's tiny foot in my armpit, her hot chocolate mug dumped over on the floor.

While she flitted to and from the bathroom, smoothing that perfect mane of hair of hers and tying up the boots that stretched from toe to thigh under a pencil skirt, I couldn't find my purple cardigan anywhere and ended up wearing dirty cords, a blue v-neck sweater I'm pretty sure hasn't been touched since the seventh grade. Fine. The next time I saw him I was supposed to be carefree and busy anyway, right? Didn't dirty and wrinkled scream 'I couldn't care less about you being here?'

We didn't have time for coffee. The only thing I did prepare for today was hard boil twelve eggs last night to store in the school fridge for my lunches this week, along with five bags of cut up carrots and celery, a new bottle of ranch dressing and jellybeans. Lunch of champions, my friends. I also discovered the bag of old clothes Alice made me weed out of my closet six weeks ago still waiting in the front hallway. With heavy arms I took them with me to make a donation at the shelter after work.

I flew into my classroom six minutes after my students who were buzzing with news from the weekend. Only one of my kids lived in our small town, the rest chartered in from the city by bus. They all had better social lives than myself, undoubtedly. It took forever to get them in their seats, except for Jessica of course. Ever the perfect student, she politely reminded me that the syllabus stated we were supposed to be starting Beowulf this morning.

"Actually," I sigh, sliding across my desk and folding my hands in my lap, "I thought we'd do a little open discussion today before we began the book. I'm feeling…chatty,' I muse. My students look to me as if I've lost my mind and frankly, maybe I have. Who cares. They didn't certify me and give me my own classroom for nothing.

"Let's keep going on this romance bit," I say, rolling my hands in a circle, emphasizing my point, "before we completely throw the towel in on The Scarlet Letter. Let's talk about…love."

There's a quiet commotion as everyone begins whispering amongst themselves. I can see some of the girls growing red faced, darting their eyes around the room as the boys are laughing in disbelief.

"What about love?" Ben calls from the back of the room, the first daring enough to tread on this taboo subject.

"Um, I don't know. Who here's ever been in love?" I call out. Nobody moves.

"Oh come on, you're sixteen. You've all been in love like twelve times by now," I urge. Still nothing.

"Ok, fine, love might be a bit serious. Who's been in…like?" I try again. Slowly, the hands begin to raise as the students look from one to another.

"Ok, that's at least something. Who here is in total like right this moment with…someone in this classroom?" Hands fall flat to the desks.

"Are you kidding me?" I ask. They must be joking. When I was in high school, at least one boy in every room at least caught my eye. Sure, they never looked back at me but still, it was nice to day dream.

And then, slowly, Mike raises his hand back in the air. He doesn't look around him as he does so, doesn't make eye contact with a single other soul in the room. Staring straight ahead at me his hand almost shakes as it comes above his head.

"Thank you, Mike," I breathe and clap my hands, "a little freakin' honesty. He beams. Jessica turns in her seat to look at him for a moment, turns straight back and I can tell the wheels in her head are turning. As she lifts her own hand in the air I can't tell if it's because she doesn't want to be the one getting brownie points or if she's actually telling the truth but either way I don't care.

However, what I'm not seeing the rest of the class is and before I know it, the 'ooohhh's' have begun amongst the seats. Both of their hands fall flat, heads go down and I know I need to redirect.

"Alright, that's enough. Ok, ladies, I need some opinions. Let's say you were in Hester Pryne's shoes. Let's say you're left pregnant and abandoned and then, the entire town shuns you for having a baby out of wedlock and makes you move to live all by yourself like a pariah because of it all. Oh, let's not forget the 'A' that's on all of your clothing."

"Who cares about an 'A', like you can even see it," a blonde girl calls from the back row. Hmm…

"Alright, what's really ugly? What's something you wouldn't be caught dead in?" I ask the class.

"Ugg Boots," the girl calls and there's laughter.

"Fantastic. You've just had a baby and the town says you have to wear these terrible boots. Ladies…what do you think?"

"That…sucks?" one girl asks.

"That sucks?" I repeat, amazed. "Hello, it's a baby. It just sucks?"

"I don't know," Jessica muses from the front row, "babies are kind of cute."

"I've always wanted to live on my own," another girl calls from the back. Oh lord, this isn't going where I wanted it to.

"Guys, guys, focus. This is a BABY we're talking about here. You're living by yourselves, in the middle of nowhere, in ugly boots with a baby and oh, did I mention that the father of your baby won't be seen with you?" Still, nothing. Blank stares. Did they retain nothing from the text? Am I failing as a teacher?

"Ok…I have an idea." I say. I grab a piece of paper from the desk I've currently got my butt planted on and start to scribble furiously with it lined up against the attendance sheet. Every girl in the class is written and I begin tearing with reckless abandon.

"Guys," I call as I dump all of the shredded pieces into my empty tea mug, "pick a name. Every girl in the class is in here and you're going to draw one. And then," I pause dramatically for effect, "you're not going to tell anyone who you have." There is the silence of shock as hands slowly go into the cup and withdraw names while the girls look curiously to one another.

"You will, however, have to provide for this girl throughout the next two weeks. Love her from a distance, you could say," I smile to myself and slowly the girls are starting to enjoy this while the boys look to one another with doubt.

"You'll have to send this 'dream' girl of yours love letters without her knowing. Without anybody seeing. Oh and this is homework," I continue, "so I expect every love letter copied into your journals and turned into me daily. Ladies, as your part of the assignment, I want you to look at your love letters as an opportunity to…grow," I continue. Really, I'm making this up as I go along. That is the joy of being a teacher. Complete trust of my students regardless of the crap I hand them.

"Review each letter and write a response which you'll put in your own journals and hand in to me. The guys never get them back."

"How is that fair?" Colin asks. I look to him for a moment, thinking how I can spin this.

"Trust me, it's about to get a whole lot more ridiculous," I hear myself saying, though I can't tell if the class can even hear me. My attention is on my bag on the green chair in the corner, practically screaming my name. I walk to it, put my hands inside and withdraw what I'm looking for. One dozen hard boiled eggs.

"These, ladies," I say and I walk to the center of the room, "are your babies. Your Pearl's, as it were." With that I begin placing one in each awaiting hand. "Guard them with your life. Boy, girl, boy, girl," I say as I go down the line. The girls are agape, eggs in hands as they accept, looking to me curiously.

"You're all single mothers. Congratulations. Boys, your jobs, on top of the daily writing of lover letters already mentioned, is to provide for this child without letting anyone know you're the father, including the mother."

"That'll be interesting," a student calls out and I laugh because, yes, the entire project is ridiculous and amusing and really, I don't know what I'm hoping to accomplish out of this. What am I doing? Why am I toying with other lives when really, I have no handle on my own?

"How are we supposed to provide without telling the mother?" one boy asks. I think to myself for a moment.

"That's up to you to decide in your…essays…that are due on the ninth, fifteenth and twenty third," I say, looking to my desk calendar and putting stars. New due dates. Interesting. "In each of your four page essays you'll discuss how you would provide for your pregnant girlfriend or wife financially, physically and finally…emotionally." I say the last one with a certain vengeance. It's about time the male population learn that women have feelings.

"You should all be writing this down," I continue and suddenly, the papers and pen are coming out of book bags, "because these essays will be worth quite a bit of your quarter marks. Remember, three of them, each with a different theme. Financial, physical, emotional."

"And what will the girls be doing while we're doing all of this providing?" one boys quips from the back.

"Gee, I don't know Michael," I smile, "perhaps you'd like the responsibility of being a full time single parents? Ladies," I announce, "let's make your three essays due at the same time except in yours, you'll be exploring the joys of mother hood. I'll compile a list of things I'd like you to be discussing in these essays for tomorrow. You know, fun stuff. A day in the life of a single mother…who's babysitting while you're at work? What's it like to stay in while your old friends go out and have a good time together? What happens when your child gets sick?" I'm looking to them all expectantly but I can feel the severity of the situation hasn't exactly sunken in yet. Most of the girls are holding their hands out in front of them, egg in palm with disgust. A perfectly good lunch suddenly gone to waste I feel. Still, this could be interesting.

"Any questions?" I ask. Blank stares.

"Why yes, Ms. Swann," I say in a mocking tone, "what do I do with this egg? The answer is, of course, to guard it with your life. Not a single crack or mark should be on that egg at the end of two weeks. I'll be asking your other teachers to make note of who does or doesn't have them in their classes and of course, should you lose that egg there will be serious repercussions. This is your child. What would have happened to Hester if she had lost Pearl?" I ask.

"She would have had…no one," comes a timid reply. It's Jessica. I notice she's the only one cupping her egg like it actually matters as she looks to me wide eyed.

"Exactly," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "That's a pretty lonely life."

"What about the A?" a boy calls. Twenty four heads turn to look at me in expectation. The A? OH RIGHT. The A.

"Uhm…"I try, looking around the room. We could make buttons? No…we need something really horrifying. Worse than the Ugg Boots. Worse than…my own wardrobe?

"Perfect." I reach under my desk and produce my second hand clothing, meant for the shelter. Alice is right, these are the absolute worst clothes a girl would want to wear, let alone the clothing my stylish students from the city would be caught dead in. Old t-shirts I used when cleaning Charlie's house, covered in paint spots and varnish, bleach discoloration. My favorite flannel pajama top with holes at the elbows. Giant rubber boots with polka dots on them. (Alice claimed, no matter how useful, she'd rather see me dead than wearing them ever again.) A trucker's cap, a joke from Jacob for how ridiculous I looked in hats, period. Everything was old. Everything was stained and worn out and missing buttons. Everything was comfortably ugly.

"Pick your poison," I said to the girls as I passed the bag around. "You'll be expected to wear this item of clothing for the remainder of the two weeks. Pair it with whatever you want but it must be seen. Oh, and boys," I say with a devilish grin, "Hester's lover was a man of the town. Distinguished…didn't want her to suffer alone. So I'll be expecting button downs and ties for the next two weeks. You know, so these lovely outfits don't go unparalleled." There is the sound of heavy groaning from the boys, the giggling of girls as they reach into the bag and pull out one horrendous thing after the next.

Word about my egg experiment is all over school by the middle of the day and I've got students pouring in that I don't even recognize asking me questions. Can they kidnap an egg if no one is watching? What about smash one? Can they try and figure out who's writing love letters to who? Suddenly I've got two hundred kids I don't know about to make it much more difficult for my poor students. My answer to all of them? A shrug. Sure, why not. Life is hard, they best learn it now. What better way to realize that children get hurt and stolen in real life than for it to happen with your pretend child? I'm feeling bitter. I'm feeling stupid. I'm feeling like I'm fully aware I'm taking it out on my students for a harsh reality on life. Fine. Guilty. Next, please.

It's such a ridiculous day and my students are all over the place that I don't even realize it's three p.m. until I'm stacking up my books and a handful of students are already waiting outside my classroom door. Apparently those that I assumed would forget about our park clean up haven't. Some are armed with garbage bags and their backpacks, most are wearing hats and gloves. They're ready to roll.

We begin the slow walk out to the fields and while the boys run and hit one another, an impromptu game of tag, I can see the girls are walking slowly in huddles, sticking close to one another. Jessica has her egg cupped in her palm while I can see other girls have them in the front pockets of their hoodies. One girl, Amanda, has hers hanging in a swing around her front like a necklace.

"I made it in art class," she shrugs as I mention it, "it's padded with newspaper and foam. Mr. Gibbs said as long as we were being creative and using foundational pieces we could create free art today. I call it 'Baby Buggy'. Think it qualifies for the art fair?" she says with a smile.

"You know, I once saw a statue of a man made of garbage ties. It has come to my attention that anything is art these days," I answer. To that she grins and continues her walk off with friends.

To my complete surprise and utter horror, there is a lone figure standing in the park when we arrive. In a long black jacket, hair blowing in the wind, he seems almost amused as we approach.

"You came," I say as I come forward. I have nothing more to say. I've got Alice screaming in one ear to act like his presence couldn't mean less to me while my own voice is in the other ear, already noticing how great he smells. How easily he smiles. How good he looks in a pair of jeans.

"Thought you could use a helping hand," is all he says before turning to one of the boys in our group. He's asking to borrow a rake from the pile of supplies we've dragged from the janitor at the school. He's helping to make and organize piles before I can protest.

We work just that way for the next two hours. I take a group of girls over to the play ground and pull weeds and rake the leaves, scattering winter mulch over the freshly turned ground on one end of the park. From here I can see Edward working gamely with the guys. They've lifted huge, fallen hunks of wood from around the picnic tables, created piles. They're bagging the leaves we leave behind in piles. We don't speak. He throws me a smile from across the field every now and then and while sometimes I forget what I'm doing and smile back, other times I try and pretend I didn't see him at all. I wasn't staring. Much.

As we begin to finish he comes up behind me, my bag in one hand, a football in the other.

"Where did you get that?" I ask, taking my bag from him.

"One of the boys had it. I thought maybe you'd like to get some pictures of your students in action." With that, he tosses the ball into the air once and then chucks it to the waiting arms of Mike.

"Ms. Swann," Amanda is calling, "Do you think you could watch my egg while I play? You just have to wear the buggy," she asks me, holding out her art necklace. Who am I to object to a girl getting in on the fun? Especially since I was never the athletic type and always wished I could be.

Before I know what's happening I'm sitting on the grass, surrounded by eight eggs and my students coats. Camera in hand, cover off, I snap furiously as they run around.

I get a really good one of Mike carrying Jessica over his shoulder during what was, I'm assuming, an attempt at an interception on her part.

I get Ben diving head first into a pile of leaves to save the ball. Colors of red and brown and gold fly everywhere around his raven head. His mouth is wide open in laughter.

I get one of Edward hunched over the ball. He runs smoothly, effortlessly, dodging kids left and right while they try and grab onto the tails of his coat. When he makes it to the end his team cheers victoriously and high fives are flying. He looks elated. He looks genuinely happy. I get three more snaps of his smiling widely, creating a play with Mike, against my better judgment. What will I do with photos of a beautiful boy once he's gone? Perhaps the same thing I've done with every photo of Jacob I couldn't leave behind but can't bring myself to look at yet.

It's just starting to get dark out when I realize that perhaps the students should be heading back home.

"Bring it in," I call out. They meander to my sitting area slowly. Everyone looks beat, dirty, beaming and breathing heavily.

"Thank you for all of your help today, guys, it looks amazing," I begin as we round up the supplies. "Bring me your sheets tomorrow for service hours and I'll make sure to sign them. Nice work. Don't forget your eggs!" I call. I give Amanda back her egg buggy. Edward is at my side as the students call out goodbyes, start wandering in pairs towards the bus stop at the end of the block.

"Yes, I meant to ask you, actually," he laughs as they go, "what is with the eggs?"

"It's a little experiment I'm conducting," I answer, shrugging my shoulders, "hopefully teaching a lesson about responsibility. The pressures of society. Love."

"Love?" he asks.

"It's…complicated," is all I can think to say. Frankly, I can't stand to be looking at him like this. Him, adorably clad in jeans and a fall sweater, light gray, clinging to his arms. Me, dirty and smudged in old corduroys, hair askew in the tie I put it in this morning.

"Some of those girls have interesting tastes," he muses while we drag the rakes behind us back towards the school. "I think one girl was wearing a 'Bill's Beef Bar' t-shirt? Don't you work for a private academy?"

"Uh…that's complicated as well," I smile to myself. I happened to love that t-shirt. That's one of Charlie's favorite pits for ribs.

We walk in silence the rest of the way to the school and it's only as we're heading out the front door that he looks to me.

"Do you want to stop by Ernie's? Get some hot chocolate or something?" he says. Simply. Not too eager.

"Um….I have to…to…" and I'm drawing a blank. It's Monday. Where the hell should I be on Monday after this volunteer project? Nothing? That's not possible.

"You have to…"he leads. He's looking to me with a question on his eyes.

"I guess…nothing. Sure. Hot chocolate sounds good." I can practically see Alice berating me in my head. Slapping me silly if she ever caught us.

Ernie is wiping off the seats by the front window as the chime greets us, a toasty warmth from the ovens hitting my cheeks. It's the perfect fall evening. Just the kind of night Jacob and I would walk around the reservation with travel mugs of coffee, looking at the stars. Light winds, scarf at my throat. I feel a pang in the pit of my chest. It's that feeling I've been trying so hard to avoid. So hard not to let myself feel. I should have been better prepared for tonight. I should have set myself up a project for after the clean up at the park. I should never have allowed myself this brief moment to slow down at all, even with company.

If Edward notices my obvious tensing up he doesn't say a thing. He brings two steaming cups of hot chocolate to a table. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Ernie watching, inconspicuously, wiping the same spot on his counter over and over again.

"You have a great set of students," Edward begins, handing me my cup.

"Thank you. I think they're pretty entertaining."

"That Mike is a pretty great kid."

"You think so?" I ask, curiously. "Most of the time he's causing trouble in my classes. Trying to get attention." I blow over my cup, trying to cool the hot liquid at my lips.

"Well, that's because he's mad for his teacher," Edward laughs. I feel my cheeks redden, caught completely off guard.

"Excuse me?"

"He's hopelessly in love with you Bella," he laughs, "didn't you notice the way he was showing off for you while playing ball? How he kept coming around to your group for supplies or questions, silly things like that?"

"I didn't…"I begin thinking to myself, "I thought he had a crush on Jessica. The one wearing the hot pink pajama shirt," I clarify for him, "with the cupcake buttons."

"Ah yes, that one," he nods, "like I said. Very interesting taste amongst your students. Well, regardless, he's lost for you. Couldn't keep his eyes off you."

"Sounds like someone couldn't keep his eyes off of Mike," I tease to which Edward pauses, his cup raised to his lips for a brief moment. I see him falter, blink as if he wants to say something before he chuckles lightly. "Yeah, something like that."

Because I don't want to sit this way in awkward silence, per our usual arrangement, I begin to explain the egg experiment to him in full. Not my need for vengeance. My want for my students to understand hardships and foul play. Mainly, just the general details. Protect my lunch. Wear ridiculous clothing. Write love letters disguised as essays. When I get to the part about the clothing Edward is laughing so hard, he's practically crying and he's gasping.

"So that was your horrendous t-shirt?" he asks to which I nod, sullenly.

"Alice made me clean out my closet."

"So the Christmas sweater…with the giant reindeer on it…that was yours?" he asks.

"That was a gift, thank you very much. I wore it once, never again." He nods as I talk, watching me carefully and when I finish the last drop from my cup he takes it and throws it away before I have the chance to stand. With my story over with we head for the door, throwing Ernie a thank you as we step out onto the cobble stone street. The night has grown cooler, still comfortable. Edward turns to me on the street, his hands in his pockets.

"I brought you something," he begins.

"Like a gift?" I gape. He has nothing in his hands.

"Yes. I noticed something the other day about your…collection."

"I have a collection?" I ask out loud. I think back to my apartment, the dust accumulating in the corners of my room. The only collection that I have.

"Sort of," he begins and he looks like he wants to say more, but stops. "Do you mind if we stop by your place? Only for a moment," he reassures me. I nod, hesitantly.

Alice isn't around, thank God, as we step in. It's in the exact mess we left this morning, complete with soaking mugs and clothes strewn about the living room. I try and tidy as we walk in, throwing things over my shoulder and Edward looks around uncomfortably before taking off his jacket. Oh. So he's staying for more than a moment.

"I didn't realize I had a collection…"I trail off. He reaches into his coat pocket and produces a blank CD case.

"You like mellow…I noticed," he says, holding up the blank case, "I thought you could use this." With that he steps towards the CD player on my bookshelf, takes out Jack Savoretti and replaces it with his mystery cd.

We stand there awkwardly as the music begins. It's soft, guitar playing, acoustic.

"Who"-

"It's a mix of people, actually," he interrupts, scratching his neck, "just a bunch of different artists I thought you might like."

"That was nice of you," I smile.  
"Yeah I couldn't sleep last night and I was…you know, just going through some of my old favorites…there's a little Costello…this little, unknown band I heard in Ireland once. Just a weird mix, is all," he says, almost sheepishly.

"Well, really…thank you, that was nice." And I sway where I stand. Because I can't think of what to do next, I begin to clean. And like the craziest wave of déjà vu, he starts helping.

"You don't have"-

"I know, Bella." He sighs, smiles softly while he starts putting the clean dishes away that are in the draining rack. Of course he knows. Of course he would help anyway.

We clean, to the rhythm of some girl and a piano for a while, then to an edgier piece by that Irish band he mentioned earlier. I spray the carpet with that cleaner where Alice's drink fell. Clean the roasting pan from yesterday's dinner. Find some of Jasper's pajamas mixed in with the load of colors and fold them separately for him to take home. Over my shoulder I see Edward is folding our couch blankets, organizing the shoes. All without my asking. The boy must just like to clean.

When we're done I flop on the couch, exhausted. That raking and mulch laying really took a lot out of me, I can only imagine how Edward feels. I close my eyes, lay my head back and can feel the weight of the couch shift as he eases into the space next to me. He radiates warmth and I can feel the edges of his sweater brush against my arm.

When I open my eyes I can see he has his own closed, his is back. Someone is singing about rain on the stereo. I close my eyes for a second longer.

When I open them again, it's dark. The lone light above our stove casts a warm glow. Alice's door is still open, meaning she hasn't made it home yet and the light on our cable box says its eleven thirty. Most importantly is that I'm lying across Edward's chest. Both of our feet are up, his head resting against a pillow I watched him hours earlier fluff into place. I look up and I'm staring at his chin. One hand behind his head, one hand around my shoulder. I do a double check on myself. Not drooling. How did this happen? How did we end up this way? I go to sit up and I feel the slight pull of his hands on me, of his fingers at my shoulder.

"Bella," he murmurs, barely a whisper, "don't move yet." I hold my head in the air for a second before placing it back against him. He moves his hand up and reaches the top of my head, pulling in a soft stroke down the back of my neck, getting lost in the tangles of my hair.

"Just please," he whispers, so I can barely hear, "don't move just yet."

So I don't.

I feel his fingertips, soft, trace the outside ridge of my ear. I feel every breath he takes, as I rise and fall with him. The beat of his heart beneath my cheek, the way he twitches one leg. I feel the heavy pull of my eyes as they begin to close again, of that tiny voice telling me in the back of my head that this won't help. This isn't right. Alice will kill me.

Then that familiar feeling of sleep takes over, Edward's sweater clenched in one fist, my hair in his.


	11. Class

My butt was vibrating. At least, I think that's what it was. I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes to really check out the situation. More vibrating. I could feel the light from the room bringing me back to reality. I could feel the gentle stir of my pillow moving, a hand running slowly down the length of my back.

"Is that you?" he mumbles. So it _was_ real. Hmm….

"Bella," he whispers, touching my head, "is that your phone?"

"Hmm?" I mumble, dazed. Then, awake really hits me. "Oh! Phone!" I reach down to my back pocket and withdraw my cell phone. Alice's name lights up the orange screen.

"'Lo?" I ask, flipping it open.

"Bella? Are you alive? Where have you been?"

"What? What? What happened?" I ask, coming-to now. The clock under the television says six am. Oh thank God, I didn't miss class yet. Edward is rubbing his eyes as I lean forward, getting a grasp on the situation.

"I'm home…where…where are you?" I ask, sitting up fully now. Her door is still open, her belongings untouched.

"Jazz surprised me at work yesterday, I had no idea it was our anniversary." she squeals in a whisper.

"Anniversary?"

"Yes, our six month. He picked me up after work in a limo, Bella, I kid you not and took me straight to Heathrow. We're in New York."

"Are you kidding?" I ask. I swing my legs off the couch and bring myself to a full stand. Alice is in New York?

"He said he wanted to tell you but he was afraid you'd let it slip and he really wanted it to be a surprise. He took care of everything, I swear, my job, the hotel, the flight, everything was planned perfectly. I couldn't have done it better myself, really." I can hear a smug sort of satisfaction to her tone and I know it took a lot for her to admit that.

"Alice that's….that's amazing."

"Look, I can come back if you need me. I know this week is hard, in particular, and I'd love to be there to kick that boy's ass if he starts giving you a hard time so just say the word. I mean, honestly, Jazz and I would be just as happy at home on the couch"-

"Alice, stop it. I'm fine. Everything is…fine."

"You sound funny. What's going on?"

"Nothing," I insist. For effect, I take a large step towards the kitchen. I don't want to risk her hearing as Edward begins shuffling to the bathroom, looking to me quizzically.

"Nothing? What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" I hiss. There is a pause.

"Oh my God, he's there," she says, her voice low and accusatory. Knowing. How? How could she have POSSIBLY known?

"Who's here? No one's here, Alice."

"Isabella Swann, are you really trying this with me? What is he doing there? How long has he been there? DID HE STAY THE NIGHT?"

"Alice, it's early…I just got up, I have to go shower and…and," I pause, looking around. Where did he go?

"Find…something," I finish. Suddenly, he appears in the doorway of my bedroom. He's smiling at me and like a fool, I smile back.

"You're in so much trouble. I should have seen this coming, I'm calling you at lunch today," she begins to trill, excitedly, scolding me.

"Don't call. I'm fine. Everything is fine. Please tell Jasper I said hello and to keep you busy so you don't worry about me because I promise…everything is fine." I look up. Edward is still standing in the doorway to my bedroom as the light from the living room window plays on his face. He squints, rubs his hands through his hair at the harsh light, smiles at me again. It's too much. It's like I'm being pulled to stand near him and I feel my feet drag forward. Head cocked to one side he gives me a sort of crooked grin, the left side of his mouth pulls up as his hair falls. I'm not even really aware of Alice on the phone still.

"Bella, I'm serious. You tell him to get his pants and get out," she snaps.

"Pants?" I ask, trying to pay attention. There's maybe three feet between us now and with each step I can feel it stronger. Like a magnet, I want to reach out and touch the edges of that sweater again.

"He brought pants with him, didn't he?" she blazes on, "Or did he just show up, rip roaring and ready to go?"

"Alice, I don't know what you're talking about…I have to go…" and then, as I hear her scream out one final time I let my phone snap shut. There's six inches between his chest and mine and his hands come up, brushing along the sides of my arms.

"Hi," he says softly.

"Hi," I answer, keeping my head down. Morning breath. Morning hair. Morning mess I'm sure I am.

"How did you…sleep?" he asks.

"Fine. I'm a little, uh, stiff," I laugh, stretching my neck to the side, "but good. I must have been exhausted."

"Yeah I think we were both pretty beat." A moment, his hands come up and touch the sides of my neck as I keep my eyes to the ground. He's got some of my loose hairs wrapped around his fingertips. He smells like sweet sleep and whatever soap he uses on his clothing.

"I should get ready for work, I'm going to be late," I begin and he catches my hands in his own, holding me in place for a moment.

"Thank you," he says, quietly, almost embarrassed, "for letting me stay. For staying with me."

"No problem," I laugh lightly, trying to seem at ease. Trying to appear like I don't want to throw myself into his arms, squeeze him around his middle, drag him back to that couch and go back to where we were only moments ago.

"Alice isn't happy I'm here," he says knowingly, regretfully.

"Oh, no, not at all," I blunder, trying to sound convincing. "No, she just wanted to make sure I was alright….she went on an impromptu trip with Jasper this week, she worries about me staying alone."

"You're going to be here alone?" he asks. His tone has shifted, suddenly, a little more urgent.

"No, I won't be alone. I have Felix and also, I'm never really here. I'm usually out…I keep busy."

"But at night, you'll be here alone," he reaffirms.

"Technically, but she'll be back soon."

"I don't want you to stay alone." He's look at me, serious, quietly, waiting for me to respond.

"I'm really…fine…by myself." I nod quickly, hoping to make my point. He stands that way for several seconds, staring at me until I can't take it anymore. I pull back, watching his arms fall slowly to his side as I do so.

"Aren't you going to be late for work?" I ask, looking around at the clock. I have exactly forty minutes to shower, dry, dress and run to the school before my first class. It isn't looking promising.

"Um, it's not really that kind of a job," he answers while I turn to the kitchen. The preset coffee timer is trying to percolate but I've forgotten to fill it with grounds and water. It begins to hiss and moan as I run over and pull the plug.

"The kind of job where you have to be there?" I ask, confused.

"No, the type of job where someone makes sure I'm there on time. I kind of come and go as I please…"

"That must be nice," I murmur. The coffee pot is essentially on fire. Fantastic. I begin pouring cool water from the sink into the back holder and can hear Edward moving slowly behind me.

"I'll let you get to it then," he says quietly as he pulls on his coat.

"Sorry, sorry," I begin, "I just….uh, I have a busy morning. I shouldn't have slept in, I shouldn't have….lied, to Alice," I'm mumbling, trying to collect myself. Why did he have to look so good in the morning? Why did I let myself get sucked into exhaustion and cuddling last night? I should have booted him! I should have told him that with no kissing or want of a relationship with me comes none of the other perks either.

"This is about Alice?" I hear him ask and I pivot where I stand, scorched coffee pot in hand.

"What's about Alice?"

"They way you're acting," he sighs.

"I'm not acting any"-

"Bella, stop." He comes forward, removes the pot from my hand and places it on the counter. "It's not a big deal. We fell asleep on the couch it's not a big deal. If you're embarrassed and don't want to tell Alice"-

"I'm not embarrassed!" I cry suddenly. Embarrassed? What is there to be embarrassed of when clearly, it's him who would rather not be seen with me?

"Then why did you lie to her?"

"Because I…I just, I didn't know how to explain. It was going to sound bad no matter how it came out, I didn't want her to worry."

"Why would she worry if I were with you?"

"She wouldn't. I mean, she would but not in that way"-

"What way? What way would she worry?"

"The best friend way! The concerned about my heart way!"

"What about your heart?" he asks and it isn't until this moment I can see now he's leading me. He's gotten closer, his questions more determined. He's not just confused. He's not just curious and wondering about Alice. He's trying to get something out of me.

"Nothing…about my heart," I say, stopping short. He's not buying it. He looms closer, hovering over me, his eyes fierce.

"Say what you were going to say," he says, low, in almost a growl and if I weren't so drawn in by his stare, the way his lips barely form the words, I'd be frightened. I'm not, though. I'm not afraid.

"I wasn't going to"-

"Tell me what she's worried about, Bella. Tell me what you've been trying so adamantly to keep hidden. What….what is Alice worried about?" he continues, his voice still low. He's slowed down, pressed his forehead to mine. "What about your heart."

"Th-that…."I try, gasping for the words, "That…you'll break it."

It feels like a weight in the pit of my stomach, dropping hard and heavy and I can feel the clang in the depths of my toes. To have to say it to him. To have him know that, already, he has the potential to break me and that everyone knows it as well. That one night on my couch will be on my mind for months, that one kiss on a sidewalk will have me dreaming endlessly. It's too much all too soon. His face and Jacob's are exploding behind my eyes, coinciding, fighting for my attention and for what? Two men that don't even want me? One I've left foolishly and one I chase recklessly.

I can only hear the sound of my gasps in the room, my eyes screwed up tight at my admittance. When I peek, I only see the deepest green, a fierce glow, a split second of hesitation and his lips are on mine.

He presses hard, urgent against my mouth and when I take a breath in his tongue slides along my bottom lip and I can hear a sharp breath escape from as well in that very same moment. His hands come up and suddenly, beneath my armpits and I'm being lifted off the ground. Pulling me forward as he swings us around I can't think of anything to do, his kisses urgent again and again on my mouth and so I do what comes naturally. I cling to him, my hands on his neck, my legs around his waist and we're gliding across the room faster than I can think to process it. His lips are fast, gentler than the first kiss, slow against my mouth while one arm is carrying me effortlessly, the other cups my cheek. How does he know where we're going? How did he find my doorway so quickly?

When he sets me down he makes sure never to let his lips leave mine. He takes my top lip slowly, pressing his tongue into my mouth and I can feel every sigh hot against my lips that he omits. Pushing gently, once my feet hit the floor he backs me up to the bed and as I lay back, using my arms behind me to steady myself, he looms over me.

"Are you….ok?" he asks, breathlessly in between soft touches against my lips. I nod, numbly, feeling the length of his body stretch across my body. Lightly, as he holds his weight up with one arm, using his free hand to sweep from my cheek to my neck, rubbing circles there with his thumb. He kisses everywhere. My mouth, open and hot and wet, to my jaw and my neck and I can hardly remember to breathe as I throw my head back. He's everywhere, hands that never leave my face and collar bones and hair, kisses, urgent that are everywhere at once and his chest that heaves against me with every heavy, staggering breath he takes.

"Bella," he sighs, tracing his lips along the curve of my jaw, placing kisses tenderly while he breathes and when I open my eyes, his are tightly shut. He almost looks in pain.

"You have…to go to work…"he whispers and I nod, swallowing hard. How do I get out of this? How can I possibly push him away? I can feel the weight of his legs against me, the softness of his sweater brushing against my arm. I've got my hands pressed to his back, pulling him closer, insistently.

"Mmmhmm," I sigh, feeling his tongue against mine, slowly pulling my mouth open, licking the inside ridge of my bottom lip.

"I should…I should go so you can get….ready," and he groans the last word, pressing against me further. I feel my breath catch. Go. Don't go. Go? Don't. Go.

"…mmm…hmmm…."I try, not sounding convincing at all. I can feel him smile, his teeth against my mouth, light, lingering. He presses one final kiss to them, pulling up slowly as he draws away and when I open my eyes, he's inches from me. Nose to nose, he sighs heavily, swallowing, looking to form words.

"Ok. I'm going to stand up," he whispers.

"Got it. Standing…"

"And while you shower I'm going to go get my car."

"Shower….ok…," and with each word I can't help but place kisses on his cheeks, his eye lids and he laughs, clearly discouraged.

"Bella…," he chuckles, pulling himself together once more, "I'm going to take you to work…I'll see you tonight…at Carlisle's…."he breathes.

"Tonight…" I repeat. I'm at a loss for words really. What are those again? How do I form my own thoughts?

"Ok. Break," he laughs and with that, he pulls back. Cold air floods around me, in the space he once belonged and I groan, audibly, which is met by his light laughter. When I open my eyes, to my surprise he's still there in my doorway, looking down at me. He has one hand resting on the doorframe, pivoted as if he was leaving and turned back to say something, but he's looking at me in the most curious way. I sit up, pushing the hair from my eyes.

"What?" I ask, teetering off the bed.  
"I just," he begins and then stops, bites his lip, "I don't want to break it."

"…then don't." It's all I can think to say as I stare at him, unable to move. With that, he nods once, ducks his head and leaves the room.

The shower, while it should be blissful, is shocking and hot against my skin compared to the comfortably warmth Edward had just provided. I wash my hair in a hot rush, get soap in my eyes per my usual madness and blind grabbing of the razor and slip on the tile on my way back to my room. Six minutes is record breaking for a shower, isn't it?

Standing in my underwear, dripping wet hair, I look at the options. There is the dress that Alice left, a black wrap one that she claims will accentuate that which is practically non existent while not drowning me in it and it's nice, I'll give it that. It's just that it exposes so much NECK. I start digging, hoping to find the cream turtle neck she despises before I give up after thirty seconds. She knows me too well, of course she would have hidden that option. Fine, dress on, hair flipped a few times to get a good air dry going on. I have twenty six minutes to finish and get to work.

Instant coffee mix in a cup in the microwave, toothpaste practically swallowed in the effort to scrub my mouth and twelve minutes later I'm semi dry. In a last ditch effort to distract from the pale expanse of white the v-neck exposes so much of, I duck into Alice's room. Lying like a perfectly awaiting gift from heaven is a heavy, jade stone necklace. It drops to the center of my chest, catches in the light perfectly. Black flats, mug in hand, lipgloss on, I might just appear to have woken up on time.

He's outside at the curb, just as he promised, shiny black car awaiting. He has his sunglasses on and as I slide in next to him, reveling in the warmth of the heaters, he smiles at me. I am butter. I am melting into the creases of this very seat.

"Ready?" he prompts. I hold up my book bag, my copies of our latest text spilling out the top, along with a can of tuna I grabbed and a yogurt. Really, it's a wonder that I eat at all during the day with the hot rush I'm constantly in.

He pulls up in front of my school before I realize we've even left my building. I'm elbows deep in my bag, looking for my favorite pen where I hear that familiar buzz of student laughter and cat calling to one another on the grounds. Just as I turn to thank Edward for the ride, I hear a tapping at my window and I look.

Jessica and Mike are standing expectantly outside my door, peering in with curious faces. Mike is looking…dashing, actually, with full suit and red tie, his hair spiked up in different directions. Jessica, however, is looking full on ridiculous sporting my pink cupcake pajama top over her black long sleeved t-shirt and jeans. In her hands is her blessed egg which she's wrapped in a sock. Interesting.

I roll down my window, a little taken aback. Before I can ask what they'd like, Mike's head is peering into my seat, level with my own, gazing at Edward.

"Hey, Mr. Cullen. You coming to class with Ms. Swann today?" he asks.

"Oh, no, Mike, Edward is just dropping me"-

"Do you two live together?" Jessica interrupts me, looking surprised.

"No! No, we don't live together"-

"Then, why is he driving you?" she asks. I could slap her in her inquisitive little face but Mike is also looking perplexed by this. Think, Ms. Swann, think. Luckily, I don't have to.

"Actually, I'd love to come in and see your class this morning, if you don't mind," Edward is offering from his seat. I swivel my head, shooting him a shocked look.

"What?"

"Yes, I've been interested since you've explained the egg experiment. I'd love to see your class first hand." He's looking adorable, his head tilted to one side. I don't even know how to oppose.

"Brilliant!" Mike calls and withdraws his head from my window. Jessica is beaming, still holding her egg like a prized jewel as she watches the entire interaction. How in the hell did this happen exactly?

I don't really have time, as always, to question much. I'm being pulled from the car, my bag in Mike's awaiting hands and ushered up the front steps while Edward goes to park the car. I stumble on two of the steps leading up and feel Mike's steadying hand on my elbow, leading me safely inside. Sometimes, I'm pretty sure they don't even know I'm the teacher. Sometimes, I think they feel sorry for my every movement when I'm so obviously clueless in my life and how it gets out of control.

My classroom is a sight to behold as the students have totally embraced the assignment. Lacey, one of my brightest students, has really taken to her "Bill's Beef Bar" t-shirt and has shredded it in length horizontally. The bright yellow slits over a black long sleeved shirt and short jean skirt is almost not school uniform. Who am I kidding, that's totally not school uniform, but it's not exactly my place to be grubbing them for an assignment I put forward.

I notice that some of the other girls were a little less creative with their wardrobe pieces but nonetheless, they all have their eggs still in tact and that's the important part. Even funnier is how Ben looks dressed to the nines or how uncomfortably most of the boys are sitting, backs straight in their chairs. I throw my things down on the green chair and as the coat comes off, the oooh's begin.

"Stop," I warn.

"Ms. Swann….nice yams," one of the girls call and I shoot a daring look at the crowd.

"That's enough."

"What's the special occasion?"

"No special occasion," I hiss, keeping a close eye on the door, "I just wanted to look"-

"Mr. Cullen's coming in this morning," Mike announces. The chorus of oooh's grows louder. Why do I suddenly feel thirteen again?

"Hey, enough, that has nothing to do with anything. Can we please get started? I need journals," I call out, trying to redirect the attention. Hello, I am the teacher contrary to popular belief. There is a general grumbling, of papers being shuffled forward and I grab a stack of journals from the front of each row.

"So, has anyone received a love letter yet?" I ask the girls. There is the shooting of gazes around the room when Amanda's hand comes up in the back.

"I had one in my locker this morning," she admits, timidly.

"Oh yeah?" I smile, "Anything good?"

"It said that he thought I was 'decent looking, even with that ugly ass hat on'…which, I guess is a compliment?" she asks, looking to the paper in her hands and then to me.

"Oh boys," I grumble, taking a seat on my desk, my legs swinging lightly so as not to show my most very private parts, "I said romantic, not amusing with a hint of complimentary. Think Dimmesdale, guys! Think old poetry, words that have to express what your emotions can't! This first one is a freebee, but do your research. Shakespeare, E.E. Cummings…look at the romantics."

"What if we don't like the girl?" Ben calls from the back and there is a general snickering.

"Well, the assignment wasn't to actually _like_ the girl. The assignment was to write a love letter. Pretend you love her. Pretend she's Heidi Klum, I don't care. Say to her what you wish you could say to the one you really love." I look around at the doubtful faces and for a second, I almost feel sad with my next instruction. "Guys…say the things you wish you could say but might never have the chance to. Confession of love is a huge thing, a very weighty thing and you'll probably never feel as confident as you do now…just, take advantage of what I'm giving you."

There is a silence that follows and when I look up, from the hands clasped firmly in my lap after my confessional instructions, I notice no one's eyes are on me. They're all at the door. Edward is standing there, watching me intently.

"I hope I'm not…interrupting," he says quietly, shifting as he stands. Oh no, not at all, please eaves drop while I make an idiot of myself

"No," I say tersely, shaking my head once and letting my eyes meet the ground, "please come in. Take a seat." He does, moving my bag from the green chair to the ground. He rests one leg on top of the opposite knee, pulls his hand to his chin, leans back and watches. The class is completely silent. Obviously, we're not used to visitors.

"Um….ladies," I try and continue, diverting my attention back to the class, "I have your essay assignments here for your three that are due with the gentlemen over the next two weeks. Please help yourselves," I say, and I hand out the syllabus I put together during my free hour the day before. "How has it been, wearing your symbol of shame so far?"

"This is the ugliest bloody shirt I've ever worn in my life," Nadia, a typically quiet girl from the middle of the class calls out. She's wearing a bleach stained flannel of mine, tied at the waist over her white t-shirt. She dons her green plaid school skirt below, but she's right…even with the careful setting of her hair in ringlets and dark lined eyes, it's less than appealing. "My mother wants to know what dressing like a homeless person is going to do for my literature grade."

"Did you explain to your mother the punishment set up Hester Pryne in the story we've been reading?" I ask.

"No. I only told her that because of this shirt I will most definitely not be getting the yearbook award for best dressed this year. I get that award every year."

"Well, use that anger Nadia. How does what you're feeling now translate to how our main character must have felt then?"

"I don't know. Was she trying to get 'Best Dressed' too?" she asks bitterly. Wow.

"I think she was mainly trying to survive and make a good life with her baby while bearing the burden society forced on her without letting it ruin her life," Jessica says, swinging around in her seat.

"I think so too…" I smile. Nadia is fuming, arms crossed.

"How are the eggs? Any mishaps?"

"My brother almost ate mine," someone calls from the front, though I don't turn in time and I can see a small smile creep across Edward's lips, though he's trying to keep it covered.

"Well, today I thought we might experiment a little more with the responsibilities of a child. Can everyone take out a sheet of paper? We're going to a do a free write today. Things I want to bestow on my baby. Two pages, front and back, on things you'd like to teach your child about life."

"Anything we want?" Ben asks and I nod.

"Sure, within reason. I mean, skeet shooting might seem like an important factor when raising a child but let's keep it within life lessons, shall we? Fairness, honesty, quick wit…what is it that's most important to you that your child knows about life? What do you want to leave with them? Your legacy, or whatever."

As a teacher, I've grown used to the general grumblings no matter what the assignment might be, so I wasn't really surprised as everyone did what I asked of them. I wandered to where Edward was sitting in the silence and leaned against the wall.

"Kind of boring to watch, don't you think?" I mused to which he shook his head.

"Not at all. You're funny with them."

"Funny? How?" I whisper. I can see eyes on us and I give that daring look that only teachers and mothers can give, where no words are necessary to get the point across. Gazes quickly fall to the desks they belong.

"Just your mannerisms. Your assignments. Your…expectations."

"I have funny expectations?"

"You have different ideas of teaching and what you want your students to learn than any other teacher I've known. Different than any teacher I ever had."

"How so?" He looks up at me at this question, and furrows his eyebrows for a moment, thinking before choosing how to answer.

"I don't mean to be….presumptuous, it just seemed to me…when I first came in the room…you wanted your students to understand something more about relationships than just what you found in the book. It seemed to be about their own personal relationships…ones they might encounter in the future."

"That's not typical for a high school English class?" I mock, feeling embarrassed. Who gave me a teacher's certificate in the first place? Maybe I am ,in fact, screwing these kids up with my off the wall lesson plans rather than allowing them to take something from it.

"Bella…you shouldn't doubt yourself," he says, as if reading my mind and I return the look of his heated gaze, his serious tone. "You're wonderful with them. They adore you. Some more than others," he chuckles and as I follow his smiling eyes towards Mike, who's watching us intently across the room, I can't help but feel myself blush.

"They're a good class. More or less," I whisper, my eyes falling to Nadia. She's chewing one nail, staring off in space while tapping her pencil. She never really did get the best grades on these types of assignments. Free thinking isn't her thing.

"I appreciate the cover," I continue slowly, "but I'm sure you have a lot to do. You can go now if you'd like."

"What cover?" he asks, looking confused. "This is great. I hadn't realized how long it's been since I was in high school. It definitely beats my office."

"Don't you have to be there, though? Aren't you only here for the week to get things done? Won't Rosalie wonder where you are?"

"Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No, I'm just…I was just under the impression you had a week to get in, get your work done and get out. That's all."

"Why are you so concerned about it?" he counters. I catch myself, biting my lip.

"I'm not. Do whatever you want Edward." With that, I walk away. I've had enough of trying to guess what he's up to. Maybe Alice was right. Maybe, despite the kissing and the mysteriousness and the random-showing-up-at-my-door, I should do my best to ignore Edward.

To my surprise, Edward stays in that chair silently the rest of the day. He doesn't say a thing to me as the classes move on. Not when the ancient P.E. teacher comes in to give me the terrible news that there was an egg incident during soccer that day. He merely smiles when Benjamin, a younger, disheveled boy in my last hour gives me his homework covered in mud, front and back with an excuse relating to some unforeseen run-in with his baby brother. During my lecture on pointed versus round toe shoes with my class after lunch, something I'm sure I don't remember how we got started on exactly, he seems perplexed but still….silent. He remains silent, the way he's oh so good at until the very last student leaves. It's Angela, who returns two paperbacks from my shelves and is looking at them, tongue on her lips in concentration as she tries to find another.

"Try this one," I say, coming up behind her and I pull on the edge of one of my favorite. Ann Brashares is a slow, up and coming author who knows the way to any teenage girl's heart.

"It will have you crying by seven thirty," I smile to which she laughs and accepts it. Waving goodbye and greeting Ben, who is most assuredly waiting at my door, she skips off and leave. Edward stands as I gather my books and approaches.

"You like teaching," he states after a moment.

"Correction. I love teaching."

"I can tell," he smiles.

"I have to get to work…" I say, glancing at my watch, "plus I have to walk the dogs and pick up Mrs. Hennig's mail for her. Her aide is out on Tuesdays."

"Would you like me to drive you?" he asks, gesturing toward the door. I'm ready to accept and then hesitate for a moment.

"Actually…I could use the walk" I finally answer. I see his face blanche, if only for a mere second, before he corrects it and smiles at me, nodding his head.

"Right. I should get back to my hotel for a bit. Answer some of those phone calls I know are waiting for me. But, I'll see you tonight?"

"Well, I'll be working. You know…if you're busy, you can just skip it. It isn't really your kind of place, if I recall correctly," I answer.

"Well, if I recall, it's not really yours either. So, I'll be there."

"Like I said Edward…do whatever you want," I sigh and with that, I jam the last textbook between the folds of my bag. I turn on my heel and of course, as he's so good at doing, he's directly behind me, his face inches from my own. He reaches his hand up, tentatively and places his thumb at the tip of my chin. He gives me the saddest face I've ever seen.

"What does that mean?" he whispers, his eyes wondering. I swallow, hard, for I'm never really good at talking when he's this close.

"It means…I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do."

"Have I given the impression I don't want to see you tonight?" he asks, still looking worried. I shrug.

"You've given a lot of impressions. I can't really tell which one to pay attention to."

Because it's what Alice would have done, I step hard to the right and directly passed him, leaving him alone in my classroom. Because it's what Alice would have done, I make it all the way to the block, feeling triumphant, like I really did give him something good and hard to think about. Because I'm Bella and I can only pretend for so long, I spend the entire walk home reliving my morning with him on the bed, my night of sleeping in his arms. I'm not Alice. I'm Bella. I'm just as lost as ever.


	12. Feel My Love

**Thanks for being patient kids, as this one was a doozy. I was in song mode but couldn't find the perfect one so hopefully, you've all heard and appreciate the wonder that is Adele, especially after the Grammy's this week and have heard her cover of the song at the end. It makes me happy, it was perfect...I couldn't pass it up.**

**Also, check out the blog in my profile, it's not mine but a friend's and is hilarious, you'll love her if you know what's good for you.**

**Happy reading, reviews are love**

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I Googled him.

Well, whatever, it was his idea in the first place wasn't it? I was out of options. I had told myself, repeatedly in fact, that the last thing I needed was to discover that he was the CEO of some multimillion dollar corporation that was dumping gallons of toxic waste by the minute into some fresh water lake for a profit. He was perfect, why would I want to screw him up with that type of thing?

Only now, it was worse. Here, I was finally ready to see the imperfect him. The 'all his dirty little secrets, love affairs with his secretary who happens to be married, kind of secrets. Unfortunately, that wasn't the case.

"Are you kidding me?" I gasp out. Banana, a frisky Chihuahua I walk once a week cocks her head to me quizzically as I stare back at her in disbelief.

"Banana you won't believe this crap," I sigh and turning back to the computer to read aloud. "Cullen Enterprises, formerly Volt Vi Corporation has gone under complete revision since 2006 when Edward Cullen, then twenty four years old, became the first CEO in Illinois State History to transform an already successful, growing enterprise to one that now combines heart and power in the greater Chicago area. Combining Volti Vi's ingenuity and scientific labs with his greater image of testing and curing auto-immune diseases, such as HIV and even arthritis, the first Cullen Enterprise hospital broke ground in April of this year. Says THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES, quote, "What Edward Cullen and his magnificent team have been able to do for America in the past two years isn't half of what we see them doing in the near future. It's enlightening and hopeful that corporations such as this can strive for greatness while bringing good. We look forward to see Cullen Enterprises grow in the next few years to become the leading chain of hospitals and labs across the U.S. capable of curing those in need."

I look at Banana who has taken to eating one of Alice's pair of panty hose under the coffee table. "You have got to be shitting me. Hospitals? He's trying to cure AIDS? AM I READING THIS RIGHT?" I ask her in disbelief. Pogo, a St. Bernard with an obvious taste for fashion magazines barks at my excited tone.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I reaffirm him, waving my hands, "We're going in a second I swear. I just can't believe this. He told me to Google him. He knew I would find out. That what, he was the soul of a saint in a long black coat? That he was all heart and therefore, what, allowed to toss me back and forth between dating and not dating? Why would he want me to know this? Why would he want me to be blown away by his fantasticism??

"I can't believe this," I sigh and I click back to Google's search engine page. He's all over newspapers for at least the passed six weeks. New York Times, London Times, San Francisco Chronicle…"Edward Cullen takes on the World….Cullen & Co. break ground in New York….CEO promises 15,000 jobs in 3 different states." The further I scrolled, the crazier it became.

I clicked on images. Frankly, I couldn't resist. Like a wave of nausea, my breath caught and staggered as I saw his face. Always down, always in that long coat as he was chased to and from his car. There was only one image, one I'd seen copied again and again because it was the only one you could see his face in clearly, that showed him up on a podium at a ground breaking ceremony. He stands stiffly, with a man at each side, while someone older, grey haired cuts the ribbon. He isn't smiling. He's the most mysterious creature in all of the photos, always partially hidden, with tired eyes. Such tired and drained eyes.

I could feel Pepper's nose rubbing into my knee and the sound of claws at the front door that told me it was leave now or Alice's bedroom carpet was sure to get it. Grabbing the leashes and guiding them…well more like them pulling me, out the door, we continue our afternoon walk.

I stop by Ernie's with Biscuit and he's waiting out front, sweeping the leaves from the walk. He gives a big smile as we approach.

"Did he puddle once or twice?" he asks me, taking the leash in his hands and I scrunch up my nose.

"I don't keep track of puddle…action, Ernie. He went, I saw it, he sniffed everyone's butt…we're golden." He laughs and nods appreciatively as I continue my walk. I drop the dogs off at their respective homes, nodding to owners and taking tips where they insist. Really, I don't do it for the cash. As excited as I am for the next jacket, I'm more excited to get out of my apartment and see the neighborhood than anything else. Having a handful of leashes makes me a little less bored looking. A little less pathetic. Plus, something funny always happens when Pepper's on the hunt.

I grab the mail, as promised, try and throw my apartment into some sort of array that looks like I'm not a complete slob and find my work pants in time to run to Seville's. Esme and Carlisle are already at the bar, setting up the dry martini glasses on the racks overhead and the hostess gives me the look I know so well. It's part annoyance, part envy I'm pretty sure and it's only because she's had to deal with a few of my regulars requesting my section, as well as the grumbling that comes afterward when she has to tell them I'm not there yet.

I didn't really have a chance, therefore, to do much more than throw my coat in the kitchen and grab my apron from Esme's awaiting hands as I flew passed. She smiled that knowing smile and pointed to a corner booth where an elderly couple were ready to pay. It wasn't until I was on my fourth table that I had the chance to look up. Standing at the bar, her hands spread out in front of her, she was still watching me with a curious look on her face. At my recognition, she shook her head, laughed and continued about her work.

**Esme's POV**

I can't help but watch her work. Really, it doesn't make any sense most days. She flits about from table to table, effortlessly, tray balanced on one palm while her customer's smile and she slides the things they no longer want free from their spots. I've seen this same girl….no, correction, I've watched this same girl carefully over the passed few months. Can't seem to make it down a street block without tripping. Can't seem to get out the front door of Ernie's without getting her coat caught. The wind has even knocked her down, flat in front of me but here…here it's different.

I'm not the only one who's noticed. On early evenings when we get the chance to eat together, Carlisle, Emmett and myself, it's been noted the funny way in which Bella leads her life. No matter where I'm going, no matter what random errand one of us has to attend it's always come back to, "Saw Bella today…man does that girl like to fall. How does she make it through whole shifts at work?"

At first I was worried about her. The way she always kept moving it was pretty obvious there was something she was avoiding during the stand still. It's different tonight, though. Tonight she looks like she's moving without any urgency. Yes, she's quick. Yes, she' efficient and smiling like always. There's a lightness I can't quite put my finger on. She spins and laughs, throws her head back a little and I think she might even be wearing a hint of make up though I can't really see in this light. Still, it's more than that and just when I think I'll have to give up, Edward is standing at the bar across from me, looking to me quizzically.

"Something the matter?" he asks and I shake my head, laughing.

"No, just watching Bella."

"Ah, yes," he muses and takes a seat across from me, letting his gaze fall over his shoulder. Bella is none the wiser to her audience, per usual and we watch her in silence for a full moment before I'm almost uncomfortable with the intensity his eyes have taken on. I clear my throat and grab an empty glass from below the counter, filling it with ice and water and hand it to Edward.

"She always stay that busy?" he asks and I nod.

"Yes, she's pretty well liked. We get a lot of requests for her section…she remembers what people order and such." There is a pause for a moment as he studies the clear liquid in the glass but doesn't drink. "How's work been going?" I try.

"What work?" he laughs, "I haven't seen Rosalie since the day we got here. I think you know why," he adds dryly and I try to cover the smile that has creeped across my lips. I'm under strict advising not to relay that Rosalie and Emmett have been staying in his apartment basement of our home for the past couple of nights. I wouldn't want to disturb that cozy arrangement anyway. It's the happiest I've seen Emmett since he's moved in with us.

"Perhaps you'll be staying longer then?" I ask and he shrugs, indifferently.

"I don't see what staying longer would help. The longer we stay, the more distracted she becomes."

"If you'd like…I could speak to…Carlisle or something," I tread lightly, hoping not to have to mention their names directly. "See if there's something we could do about redirecting her attention."

"What? And let my baby brother hate me ever more for ruining his love life? Thank you but, no. We'll be leaving in a week, what we get done is what get's done." He finally brings the glass to his lips, takes a long, slow pull and sets it down. Bella approaches, out of breath as she pins a piece of paper onto the counter.

"Esme, that man over there in the beige says his waitress rang him up incorrectly, something about a soup…or something," she trills, cocking her head to one side while inspecting his receipt. "Anyway, he called Elizabeth a bloody idiot and now she's crying in the lady's loo and I can't figure out a thing he's talking about…he's very Irish," she continues and her cheeks redden. Suddenly, she stops, noticing Edward sitting to her right.

"Hello. When did you get here?"

"I've been here," he answers simply. They stare at one another for a beat until finally she regroups, turning back to me.

"I'll take care of it Bella, do you think you could check on Elizabeth?"

"I did. She'll be out in a moment. Also, someone spilled something yellow on the floor in there and I'm HOPING it's Red Bull and not what I think it might be but I can't find Emmett…"

"He'll be here soon. He called in a little late, I'll get Carlisle. Thank you Bella," I assure her. She looks doubtful for a moment before giving Edward and I a quick nod and she's off again towards the kitchen. Carlisle struts behind me, brushing my shoulder as he does and I see he already has the mop in hand on his way to the loos. I turn back to see Edward's gaze is following Bella as she flits back from the kitchen, two steaming plates in hand, swivels one closely over the top of a young girl's head and breathes an obvious sign of relief as she narrowly escapes the collision.

"Edward," I begin, not sure where to start, "I know we've discussed this…and, of course, if you feel I'm overstepping my boundaries you're entitled to say so…"

"You? Overstep your boundaries?" he smiles at me, looking a little abashed. "Esme, you're the only person I know who could make criticisms sound like observations. You haven't overstepped a boundary in your life." He digs his hand into the bowl of pretzels and takes one, sliding it to his lips slowly, chewing methodically.

"Well, it's just that I know you and Carlisle had talked about everything…back at home…and how happy you've been there. Or rather, _if_ you've been happy I suppose would be more appropriate."

"Carlisle and you not need worry about my happiness. I keep busy, I have friends and family back home that worry enough about my well being. You really shouldn't, you're busy enough with my brother as it is."

"Oh, Emmett isn't any bother. He's actually doing quite well here. With school and everything."

"Well then that's a first," he mumbles, almost too low for me to detect. It's not something I would bother commenting on in the first place.

"It's just that since you've been here Edward, I've noticed you seemed a bit more…I don't know. At ease, I suppose. You've been getting along excellently with the people in our neighborhood…you've got quite a companionship going on with Bella…I would just hate to see any of that disappear when you moved back. You seem comfortable here."

"Well, she's not difficult to get along with, is she?" he asks me, gesturing towards Bella. She's got one arm out, helping a woman to her feet and stepping around a pile of potatoes on the floor while the second bus boy on duty comes around their feet with a mop.

"I don't think it's just that, Edward," I say softly and he finally turns his head in my direction, meeting my questioning eyes with his own shocked ones.

"Maybe I spoke too soon. Perhaps you do like to overstep your boundaries," he smiles after a moment and relief washes over me that he's not upset at my comment.

"I don't mean to, truly, I don't," I ramble and take advantage of his attention while I have it. "It's just that before she was really…a sad girl."

"Sad, how?"

"Sad in….oh I don't know. Sad in a way that no one really felt safe asking her about. She keeps busy, she's polite to everyone…extremely courteous, of course. But it was more than that. And this week is the first time I've seen her give anyone the time of day. No one can even keep up with Bella and here you are, going everywhere with her. I heard you went up to the school earlier…to work with her students?" I ask.

"This town really is small, isn't it?" he mumbles to himself.

"And you went to her Sunday dinner…you've even stayed over there, if I'm not mistaken?"

"What, did you check your homing device?" he laughs, the sound bursting through his lips in surprise and I'm embarrassed for a moment. No one really realizes how much this town talks. How old eyes can't wait to share through old lips what's been happening and how Carlisle and I are grateful that for once, the young couple who come from obvious money and run a bar might be ruining the neighborhood. Hopefully, we've dispelled that rumor by now. Still, I don't exactly take joy in knowing the newest gossip revolves around the quiet girl with the tiny roommate and my husband's nephew and their possible budding romance.

"Edward," I say and I lower my voice, to an almost pleading tone, "Edward, you look happy. I mean, it's hard to tell sometimes with you," and I pause to give him a, hopefully encouraging, smile, "but when you're around her you are positively enamored. I would hate to see you give that up for something like work or….or perhaps being afraid about what might"-

"That has nothing to do with it," he says decisively, his voice a low gravel and I withdraw minutely.

"I just meant that if those were possibly the reasons…you shouldn't let it get in the way of…of being with someone you care about."

"Well, it can't all be as simple as Rosalie and Emmett, can it?" he mutters sarcastically.

"I hardly find their situation simple," I counter, "they're from different continents. One's a successful corporate head in the states, the other a university student in England. I honestly don't know if they'll give a go at this but I hope they try. And they seem to be willing."

"Well Rosalie's life is very different from mine and Emmett…is undoubtedly different from Bella's."

"So then it's impossible," I say and he shrugs, refusing to guarantee my statement.

"Edward, I'm going to tell you very simply that when that girl showed up here six months ago she was absolutely broken. She's looked broken every single moment, no matter what she's doing and when you showed up and insisted on taking her to that wedding…since then I've seen something in her I've never seen before. Now, whether you want to admit fault for that or not, I really don't care. Just don't…please, don't leave her broken that way again. I couldn't bear to see her that way after these past few days. And really, Carlisle and I would hate to see you that way too. If there's something there…a potential for something, you should take it."

"I have responsibilities, Esme…" he sighs, setting down his glass, "I have a life back at home and my own messes to clean up."

"I'm aware of that," I tread but he holds up a hand to stop me.

"No one really knows about that," he states and I shut my mouth. This is the point where it's possible to go too far.

"Alright, Edward….alright." With that, I grab the towel from the drying rack and refill a drink order one of the waitresses has left on the line for Carlisle to pick up on his way back from the bathroom. When I'm done I turn to find Edward is exactly where I left him, though he's swiveled slightly. Bella is across the room talking to one of our regular weekend gentlemen, James, who's got his arm around her shoulder as he talks to a table full of friends he's with. She looks slightly uncomfortable but I know Bella better than that. She won't let it get further than that if she isn't comfortable.

"You are right about one thing Esme," he says and suddenly, he stands to his feet, taking his water glass with him, "everyone seems to get along great with Bella." With that, he leaves me and is striding across the room, his coat blowing behind him while I watch, mouth agape to see what happens next.

**BPOV**

"Didn't I tell you boys she was a sight for sore eyes?" James is slurring and I recoil the slightest bit as he grips me tighter. Even his friends look slightly embarrassed for the display he's putting on. I peer behind me to the clock on the wall….8 pm? How can he be this totaled at eight in the evening on a Tuesday?

"If there's nothing else I can get you boys…"I trail off as I begin to weasel my way out of arms but that only entices him to cling tighter, stumbling a step backward as he does so.

"They look about set, Bella," a voice calls from behind me and we pivot, still attached at the side. Edward is standing ever so close to us, watching through slitted eyes. His gaze is on James as he extends a hand and without thinking, I take it, letting him pull me from his clutches.

"Esme was looking for her," he says lightly to me, never taking his eyes from James and as I peer back, James' eyes are just as fierce on Edwards. Unsure of what to do, I make my escape, tearing to the bar. Esme is watching, fingertips to lips in anticipation.

"What's going on?" I ask to which she shakes her head.

"I believe Edward didn't like the looks of your exchange," she says softly, still watching intently. I can't bear to bring myself to turn around.

"What's going on?" I hiss. She shakes her head again.

"Nothing. They're talking, it looks like."

"Here, this is their drink order," I say with a hard swallow and slide the slip across to her at the bar.

"What was going on when you were over there? He looked a little aggressive with you Bella. I hadn't know he could get like that, I wish you would have told me"-

"No, Esme, it's nothing like that. It's always a friendly exchange, he's just a little sloppy tonight. God, they're not fighting or something stupid, are they?"

"No…no, it just looks like Edward is giving him his _best_ steely gaze and James appears…uncomfortable, at most. Oh, oh he's coming over."

"Who, Edward or James?" I ask, but she's ducking away from me, diverting her eyes as she begins to fill the glasses.

"Esme!" I hiss, ducking my head, "James or"-

"Are you alright?" Edward is asking, touching my shoulder and I spin.

"What?" I gasp, trying to catch my breath.

"Are you alright?" he repeats, his eyes laced with concern. They're deeply furrowed and his hair sways as he stands closer, taking my elbow in the palm of his hand pulling me closer, slowly and for a second I almost forget where we are.

"I'm fine, why?"

"He was…. I mean, he was…" and he gestures, dumbly, trying to find the words as I smile to myself.

"He was what, Edward?" I prompt.

"He…I mean, to say, he….he was…." and his eyes meet mine, looking embarrassed, he lets go of my elbow. "So you're fine then."

"I was always fine. Are _you_ alright?" I prompt to which he nods, exuberantly.

"Yes, of course."

"What did you say to him?" I ask, peering over his shoulder. He's talking with his friends again, looking clearly fussed, glancing back to Edward and I every now and again.

"Nothing," Edward confirms, taking a swallow from a glass of water, "Nothing important."

"Right…", I sigh and then, Esme appears behind me at the counter with four brimming pint glasses and four shots of brown liquor. I go to take them when Edward's hand brushes passed mine, grabbing the tray.

"These are mine," he says quietly and slipping passed, tray steadily in his hands he's walking back to James' table. I watch, dumbfounded, as he passes the drinks out slowly and takes one of each for himself. The men cheers, Edward's eyes shoot to me quickly once from the corner and then he's throwing the shot back and the pint comes to his lips to chase it. Well, then.

That, to my horror, is how the rest of the evening goes. Edward is like a ghost, wandering around the bar intermittently, always out of the corner of my eye but continually, finds his way back to James' table. They do shots occasionally until it's Edward James' has his arms snuggly around the shoulders of and I don't have to wander over to take drink orders at all as Edward and Esme keep the flow steadily going between them. I stick to my other regulars, trying not to look curious though it's killing me. Neither of them talk to me the rest of the night. I look up at last call and finally, I see them. Sitting at the table, laughing jovially and James is waving me over. I look to Esme who shrugs, as if to say 'Do what you want' and with a heavy sigh, I head over.

James' eyes are clearly glazed over as are his two friends and they laugh and almost giggle girlishly as I step forward.

"Bella, Bella," James is whispering and laughing at the same time, "Tell him. Tell him about that time that Michael here got so pissed that he….he pissed!" and his laughter is bursting through lips pushed hard together while one of the boys, redfaced, his shaking his head adamantly. I can only stand there, stightly uncomfortable and nod an affirmation.

"It's true. I think you guys asked Emmett for a spare pair of pants?" I try and recall and Edward is smiling lightly. He doesn't appear like the rest of them. Surely, he's laughing quietly with them, nodding and at ease, but there's not the same look to him. He's quiet, simply observing, rather than obnoxious. If I didn't know any better, if I hadn't have seen him take the shots, I'd think he wasn't drunk after all.

"Bella, you're up next," Millicent, one of the waitresses says as she passes by me and I look after her as she walks away.

"Next for what?"

"Oh, you're singing! Bella's singing," James is laughing as he shushes his friends, waving his hands and I throw Edward a look like daggers. What the hell is he talking about?

"No, I didn't"-

"House band was taking requests. I requested you," James says, quite simply and he slaps his leg, leaning back in his seat.

"I don't sing," I say with a final shake of my head. Edward is watching our exchange, looking mildly amused.

"It's too late. You heard her. You're…..UP," James emphasizes the last word with a hiccup. On stage the house band is finishing their cover of a U2 song. I can see they're looking at the list to see what's up next and just as my worst fears are realized, they're searching through the crowd for my face they know so well.

"James, please…please tell me you're lying," and he only shakes his head, slow and deliberate. Edward takes another sip of his beer, saying nothing.

"Bella, get up here," the lead guitarist is saying and I try frantically to think of something. It's too late. I feel a push behind me and it's Millicent at my shoulders. The waitresses would never pass up the chance to see one of their own humiliated. I can feel my feet stumbling, my tennis shoes tripping rubber against concrete as the stage grows closer and the last thing I see, in my eyes wide with terror is Edward's face, Esme's encouraging smile, Carlisle watching from his spot behind the bar.

It gets absolutely silent, the quietest I've ever heard Seville's get in the entire time I worked here, save for that one time someone yelled out fire because a candle tipped over and that was followed by frantic, unnecessary screaming as people ran around and wax dripped all over an unsuspecting customer's alfredo. Not _quite_ the same as this.

I reach the microphone, front and center and everyone looks smaller than I remember from what I can tell, peering through the houselights. The guitarist is at my back, looking to me.

"What we singing?" he asks, his accent thick, quick. I look to him dumbly and can hear my own breathing echoing in the mic. There is only the sound of a single glass hitting another in the back of the room. Otherwise, the floor is still. Even the waitresses are watching expectantly, trays in hand where they stand.

"Sorry?" I whisper.

"I said…what we singin?" he prompts, looking irritated and because I can't think of what else to do, I shrug wildly.

"How the hell should I know?"

"You don't care then?" he asks, looking for a confirmation and my mind runs a thousand places at once. God, do I not want to sing "I'm too Sexy"….really, anything by Rick Springfield I could take a pass on…Madonna…why can I only think of eighties tunes up here? Where is my mind? Where are my favorites, my familiars, the ones that don't sound like complete, awful warbling when I recreate them in the shower?

"You know some Adele?" he tries again and I swallow. Adele? That's a woman, right?

"Sure, I think," I strain for the words. Isn't that a cd Alice has somewhere at our place? Something she fell in love with a few weeks ago?

"Alright….what 'bout Feel My Love?" he asks. I can see in the distance that the crowd is growing a little restless and Esme turns around to meet Carlisle's worried gaze before turning back to look at me. I grab the microphone for balance and shut my eyes. Blocking them out I concentrate on the question. What was the question? A song. A song by Adele. Feel my love. God, what was that? Wasn't that a cover of a terrible country song? I mean, really, do I even know the words? I think so. I probably know them, if I think hard. Maybe when he starts to play. Maybe when the music starts. If not, maybe he'll sing with me. Maybe he'll cover for me so that really all you'll be able to hear is his voice while I sway back and forth, fooling the crowd into THINKING I'm swaying. While, of course, I plot the imminent death of table 27 in its entirety.

"You alright?" he asks me and I open my eyes again.

"Feel my love? The…the slow one, right? That cover?"

"Yeah, that's the one. Eli here will pick up the piano. You alright?" he asks again and I feel my head nod, only once in confirmation.

Before I can really protest…before I know what's happening, whoever the _hell_ Eli is has taken a seat at the beaten piano in the corner and a strong chord starts up. Slow, heavy, I close my eyes once again. When I open them, someone….Emmett, in the far corner has turned the house lights down the slightest bit. There is still one on my shoulders, casting a miraculously pale glow, I'm sure, of my waitress outfit and messy hair for the entire crowd, but I don't have much time to process that. I can feel my lips between my teeth as I try desperately to slow down my breathing.

The intro chords are slowing down and I turn once to see a boy with jet black hair at the piano stool staring at me expectantly. It's now or never.

"When the rain is blowing in your face…and the whole world is on your case…I would could offer you a warm embrace….to make you feel my love." As I say the words, I screw my eyes tightly shut, hearing my voice shake in the beginning, only the slightest bit. When I open I can see Emmett's face, shining in the corner of the bar, leaning against the wall and because I'm an idiot, I keep going.

"When the evening shadows in the stars appear, and there is no one there to dry your tears….I could hold you for a million years….to make you feel my love…." Esme is standing near Carlisle and without looking, reaches out her arm, finding his hand in the space between them which he slowly takes.

"I know you haven't made your mind up yet," I sing, shaking my head and James is looking as smug as ever, leaning back in his chair.

"But I would never do you wrong," and suddenly, at the start of the next line I can hear Eli's soft voice from the piano joining me, almost sounding professional. Like we do this constantly. I turn in surprise and meet his gaze which is encouraging. I can't help but breathe a little as we finish the words.

"I've known it from the moment that we've met, there's no doubt in my mind where you belong…"

There is the quiet shuffle of people craning their heads and I can feel my hands, trembling against the head of the microphone starting to slow in their movement. The louder I sing, the smoother and more calm it appears and it's a trick I'm getting the hang of.

"I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue for you….." and I look to Esme who's still smiling. Leaning against Carlisle who has his arms snuggly around her.

"I'd go crawling down the avenue…."

"No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do…."

"…..to make you feel my love."

Two of the guys pick up in the house band and I can make out the trill of one on a fiddle, soft and sweet and when I start again, Eli is with me, the perfect back up singer.

"The storms are raging on the rolling sea and on the highway of regret…" still watching them. Anything to distract me from the crowd and they're smiling widely, Eli stands while he plays.

"The winds of change are blowing wild and free….but you ain't seen nothing like me yet."

And here is where I make my colossal mistake. Where I should have kept looking was Rosalie, who's walking in the front door of Seville's, looking around curiously at what all the attention is focused on as she approaches Emmett. I should have kept my eyes on Millicent in the front row, standing stark still with the tray in her hands while her customer's don't even seem to mind as they too, watch my horrible performance or Eli still playing his heart out on Carlisle's busted piano and the lead guitarist on the electric fiddle.

Instead, I look to Edward.

He's watching, his expression blank. The boys he sit with are all smiling wildly, probably still from tricking me up here in the first place but he only sits, leaning slightly forward, his elbows in his lap and his finger tips pressed together in front of his face so I can't make out his mouth. I'm stuck. I can only see his eyes, intense and foolishly, it suddenly feels like I'm singing to him.

"I could make you happy, make your dreams come true...nothing that I wouldn't do," and he's still looking. Suddenly his hands come down and I see his mouth in a hard pressed line. No expression. No emotion.

"Go to the ends of the Earth for you," and clearly, this isn't impressing him. Stop looking at him, Bella. Quit watching him, look anywhere…anywhere but at him.

"To make you feel my love….." and somewhere a bulb flashes. Someone taking a picture of me in all of my ridiculousness on stage and our eyes break apart. I look forward before I repeat the last line and behind me I can hear the piano growing softer as the song finishes.

"….to make you feel my love."

The last chord plays. I feel a hand strong at my shoulder, and the lead guitarist is smiling and laughing as he makes out words I can't hear. The entire of Seville's is clapping, whistling and hands are brushing on me from in front of the stage. I can't make out a single face, I'm still shaking wildly from the rush and I can feel my face growing hotter, impossibly hotter with embarassment. Thank God, it's over. Thank God I can kill James now.

I look up, hear a 'Nice work Bells,' and it's Emmett and Rosalie, sidling up to me. By the time I turn around I can make out James' table, his friends laughing and pushing one another as I approach, waving me over with congratulations, spilling their drinks everwhere. One seat to the right of James is, of course, empty.

Because, of course, Edward is gone.


	13. Just a Girl

After my big debut there wasn't much left of the evening as the final drinks were sipped and guests meandered their way out the front door. I got a few pats on the back as I was wiping the last of my tables, picking up half full mugs and emptying ashtrays as I went. Mostly the obligatory, "Good job" or "That was very nice, sweetheart," from the older gentlemen. The kind of things you would expect to hear from people who were trying to be polite for the fact that you did just get up on stage, like a fool in front of everyone, and sing for no particular reason, beet faced and warbly the entire time. Still, they were kind gestures and despite the fact that Edward had disappeared completely since the middle of my song, I was feeling a little elated.

I caught up with James as they were waving goodbye to the hostess, giving him a devil's eye and he laughed at me, throwing a wink and tipping his head in a sort of bow.

"You were lovely up there tonight, just lovely, as I predicted."

"I'll never forgive you," I sighed to which he hiccupped a laugh, a sure sign that even though he was walking steadier now, he would at least be able to make it home.

"You boys taking a cab then?" Esme called to them from her spot near the kitchen door and they waved in agreement. There would be no driving for them and she sighed the slightest bit in relief. The thought of Seville's being responsible for some late night drunks on the road was the only thing I knew Esme actually disliked about owning this business and her and Carlisle worked extremely hard to make sure there was always an available wait of cabs on the road at closing time, no matter what day of the week.

With them gone, I find Rosalie and Emmett sitting cozily in a booth near the center of the room and her face light's up as I approach, taking their wine glasses. It takes Emmett a moment to tear his face from hers until I'm standing directly in front of them and she's braying about my accomplishment.

"Truly, Bella, it was just lovely. I've never heard such a wonderful love song in my life."

"Oh, well, that's a generous lie, thank you Rosalie," I can feel myself blush, out of control and I want nothing more than to be out of their presence but she's still going, gushing while Emmett nods in agreement.

"I mean it! She was wonderful, wasn't she wonderful Emmett? Not a soul in the place could stop watching you, I had to get a picture," and with that she waves the tiny, square disc of a digital camera hanging delicately from her wrist. Ah, the paparazzi culprit.

"Fantastic," I murmur, more to myself and wave the glasses lightly, "you done with these then?"

"Yes thank you," she sighs and her attention is once again back to Emmett as her hand comes forward, brushing his for only a minute before coming up to touch her face, pushing strands that have come free from the bun at the back of her head out of her eyes. I never noticed before this moment that she's wearing jeans, dark and fitted and a black v-neck blouse and next to her, in a simple black pants and long sleeved t-shirt I feel so plain. How is it she manages to make even the simplest things seem elegant? How is it her boots, heeled and pointed toe, look so much more…just, more. More than I've ever looked. The same way Alice looks every morning. Just…more.

I call out the goodbyes to Carlisle and Esme as the place becomes more and more empty and the only ones really left that aren't cleaning are the two love birds in the corner. Once again I'm told congratulations, though I'm not sure on what and the cool night air hits my face, soft with mist from a rain that started a while ago and has stopped by now.

It always surprises me the disarray I find my apartment in whenever I come home, though I don't know why. I can remember the exact place I throw things, the exact dirty dishes I toss into warm, soapy water before I run out the door with the general thought of, "later" though, really, I don't know when later will actually occur. I flick on the lights, take in the dismal, empty living room. The chewed belongings of Alice are still there and I throw them haphazardly into her room before stripping down. It's nearly three in the morning and I have to be up at six thirty but for some reason, all I can think about is a warm bath. That's exactly what I do. I run the water, steaming and fragrant with Alice's pink soap she keeps under the sink and slide my body in. Everything scalds, but in a good…relieving way. A relaxing way. I sink lower, lower, until my chin touches the bubbles, and then my cheeks, my nose is submerged…I can feel my hair floating around me in the suds. It's like a weight, pulling me down, this hot liquid. To feel is on my eyelids and cheeks and every span of my arms and legs is to remember what warm actually is. Kisses on my eyelids. The slow movement of skin on skin on that space behind my knees. Heavy arms draped across my stomach while I sleep. And now I remember…this is why I don't take baths.

I sputter, coming up for air when I hear it. A thud, hard and heavy in my kitchen and I freeze. I must have imagined it. It was a pot falling from the drying rack on the counter. Thunder. Then, it's there again. Hard and heavy, more urgent, more than once. Do I have that many pots drying on the rack? Of course not and pulling the heavy stopper with my toe, grabbing the purple towel from the rod I wrap myself, letting the cool air bring a sense of calm to my already flush cheeks. I check myself in the mirror. Yep, I'm a big, sweaty mess, with suds still on my neck, beet red from the hot water. Maybe the felon…or who I'm assuming is a felon, will be so scared by my appearance it'll go the other way. He'll run screaming, throwing his wallet at me as he does so. One can only hope.

I tread lightly, slipping once on the tile in the kitchen with my wet toes and get to the door just as another urgent thud falls. I fling it open.

Edward. Of course it's Edward. I should just expect him from this point on at all inopportune times to show up without warning. His head is low, heavy and his eyes are tired, a little drained actually as he brings his face to meet mine. I'm utterly embarrassed as he gapes at me the slightest bit, trying to bring the towel closer, tighter, reaching up to my neck to wipe away those suds and my fingers slide across my collar bone where the red, that should have been fading with the cool of the room is undoubtedly creeping its way to my cheeks. Still, he just stands there for several seconds.

"Hi?" I try and he doesn't move.

"Are you alright?" I whisper, looking behind him. Maybe something terrible happened. Maybe _he_ was actually mugged or worse and I step forward, reaching out my hand. He flinches and I withdraw.

"Edward, please…say something," I strain. Finally, finally he looks up to my face, away from my purple towel and wet collar bone and takes a step forward. Just as I go to take a step back but his own hand reaches out and grabs me by the waist, his palm at the small of my back and his face is near my own. His forehead is almost touching mine.

"I didn't want you to stay alone," he whispers.

"Ok…"I say back and we're still standing there, me wet and clad in a towel, him watching me intently, never letting go of my waist.

"I thought you left…"I say and he shakes his head. Stops. Nods, then looking confused, turns his gaze back to me.

"I mean I did leave, but not really. I just stepped outside for a moment. I needed some fresh air."

"Not feeling well after the drinks?" I muse to which his brows furrow in confusion, then lighten the slightest bit.

"I wasn't drinking. I mean, I had a couple of pints but Esme kept my shots filled with Coke…actually. Diet Coke," he chuckles and now I'm the one confused.

"I thought you were drinking with James…I thought you were enjoying their company."

"Why would I enjoy that cad's company?" he asks me, genuinely curious and I find myself at a loss for words.

"I don't know. One minute you were talking with Esme, the next you were buying rounds for that table. You were with them the entire night."

"So that they would leave you alone the entire night, Bella," he sighs, as if I'm slow. Like I should have seen this all along.

"I didn't enjoy a moment out of the entire evening until they got you on that stage actually," he admits and I bring my fingertips up to my eyes. Let the teasing begin, I guess.

"Yes, well, thank you for allowing that humiliating moment to occur. You wanted to keep him away from me just didn't mind him…torturing me in the process, is that it?"

"He couldn't shut up about your voice. The entire night, the more he drank…you became the Angel Gabrielle by midnight. I had to see for myself," he chuckles. It isn't until now, the heat rising steadily to my face that I realize we're still in my doorway and I try to back up.

"Let's go inside," I begin but he holds me fast and hard and I look up into his laughing eyes that are now deepened. Slightly quieter, his lips quirk up into a sort of smile before he's whispering to me again.

"It was perfect, Bella. Absolutely perfect, just as he said it would be. I had to leave. I couldn't stand to listen anymore." Flustered, I push against his chest, clearly confused.

"So good you had to get away from it? Yes, that does sound award winning," I'm mumbling but he's shaking his head, still holding me tight.

"Will you stop for a moment please?" he begs and I'm caught, my fingers spread across his chest while he's trying to stay whatever it is he wants to say. "I'm stuck, Bella. Absolutely stuck."

"I know the feeling," I mumble and he shakes his head, adamantly.

"Every day I tell myself that leaving you alone would be best. You told me not to break your heart and I vowed I wouldn't and hours later I caught myself…asking myself, how this would even be possible. How do I not break you? Look at you," he sighs and he runs a hand over my cheeks, taking in the terrible sight of me as his fingers, lightly, run a warm, tingling sensation, his thumb just below my eyes, his face sad.

"Look at you," he breathes again, shaking his head, clearly talking to himself. "Look at you," he sighs one last time and bringing his face close, his lips parted slightly he places a kiss on my nose, looking to me as if for confirmation and I'm sliding. I'm losing all control. I don't even feel the strength to push or to ask questions because his voice is mesmerizing, his breath hot against my lips as he places another kiss there, waiting for me to respond but I can't because his words keep coming as he pushes us into my doorway, closing it behind him.

"Everybody is enamored with you," he says and he cups both of his hands on my cheeks, placing another kiss against my puckered mouth while I watch and listen, wide eyed as he continues. "Carlisle and Esme…Ernie…everyone see's this beautiful girl, taking over the neighborhood and you have no idea…", and he kisses again, sliding his hands down to my shoulders, watching them with his gaze as he goes, "your students idolize you…and why shouldn't they? You teach them the things that matter…the things that you've always wanted someone to teach you." We're still walking backwards and I can feel with my heel that the living room carpet has started where the kitchen linoleum has ended. I'm vaguely aware of this dance, of this movement towards my bedroom he perfected so well with one sweeping gesture earlier and I can't tell if I should stop it or encourage it. I, once again, don't have to decide for myself.

"You sing…like it scares you out of your mind but you did it anyway. You take care of your roommate who would be lost without you. You look amazing…always look amazing when you first wake up or when you get out of the tub or when…when you're sure you look terrible," he chuckles and he pushes me, once we reach the bed, until I'm sitting on it, my feet hanging off the edge. He kneels so he's directly in front of me, still hovering close and I can smell him. Like soap and honey and gum. Like everything I would have suspected but couldn't pick out before. His green eyes are heavy, watching my lips which are parted, my breath heavy the longer he speaks, the more unsure I'm becoming.

"You wore a green necklace and I couldn't take my eyes off of you," he whispers, "The same way you scratched your arm and I couldn't…I couldn't wait to touch you," and he traces that line, that faint line where a scratch I'd once forgotten about is disappearing.

"You sleep heavy and you did this thing where you buried your nose in my shirt and I thought I might actually explode from wanting to wake you and touch you and kiss you. The way your knees look in a dress," he mumbles and I feel his touch, feather light on my right knee cap, "the way you cook for old people. The way you"-

"Stop," I blurt out and I close my eyes. When I open them he's looking to me, almost hurt. It's too much. I can't stand to see him look this way.

"Just stop," I sigh and I lean forward and place the first kiss, from my mouth to his, urgently against his lips. I push hard, pulling away enough to mumble "I'm just a girl," before I do it again. Without his permission I slide my tongue along his lower lip and feel that quickening of his breath and suddenly, mine is matching. I bring my hands up to his temples, running my hands through the mess that is his hair as I deepen the kiss.

"I'm just me," I say again, barely audible before I tilt his head back, grabbing his hair in loose fists and I place them, tenderly along his jaw, to his earlobe and I can hear him sigh, deep, almost a whimper at his mouth, in the back of his throat. I grasp him, pulling him closer between my knees and I feel those hands slide up my thighs from my kneecaps, inching the towel up with his fingertips as he goes. There is the strange mix of chilly air and warm touch at my thighs and it's enough to make me shiver as I let my tongue, the very tip of it make a circle just below his earlobe and he grasps me, his knuckles squeezed into a fist at my sides, his breath quickening.

"I'm just a girl," I repeat, because really, that's all I am. A girl who makes mistakes. Who has love and pushes it away. Who runs from responsibility. Who runs, constantly, so that nothing will ever catch up with her. I hear his moan again, soft and his tongue slides into my mouth, warm, fluid, sweeping and tangling with mine and he pushes his head against me as he does so. He's standing, coming over me, arms on either side of me against the bed and I feel myself falling backward.

"I wish you could see you like I see you," he murmurs against my skin, bringing his lips to brush against the dip in my shoulder, where the collar bone meets it and the very lone act…the brush before the kiss sends a tremor deep to my knees.

Then, with one hand holding himself up he brings the other down, slowly, carefully, and pulls at the edge of the towel. Half of my brain is screaming to stop, don't look, there's imperfection there but the other half can't wait for him to. I want to feel all of him, want his hands to run the entire length of me and like he's reading my mind, the cool air of the room meets my chest, my stomach, my lips as the towel is pulled back and I tremble. Actually tremble and he brings his mouth to cover my own again and to my surprise, as he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, quickened, nervous against my face.

Softly, I feel the back of his knuckles run from the front of my right thing up…grazing my hip bone and I stop breathing altogether. He continues, only the back of his hand and it's like he's barely there as it comes up further, taking in the dip of my stomach and I can't help but look at his face as he does so. He's looking. He's watching his hand, his head low as it runs the length of me, stopping for only a second as I suck in my breath when he reaches my stomach. It's part ticklish, part shivering, part exciting and I see his eyes close for the briefest second as I nod the okay to keep going.

And he does. All the way up to my rib cage and here he sweeps, letting his fist fall open so that the entire back of his hand, from knuckle to finger tip grazes the side of my breast. I moan. I can't help it. I can't control the whimper that comes from my mouth, the tremble of my lips, the bated breathing that won't slow and in turn, he's becoming unraveled as well. Brings his face close to mine, his arm shaking slightly as it pauses there before coming up the rest of the way, cradling my neck. Finally, impossibly slowly, he pulls my face close and breathing against my cheek, kisses me. Deep, deeper and I feel him finally allow his body to rest against mine. His chest to mine, his legs and knees to my legs and knees and the only part of us that's not on the bed are my feet that are still resting on the floor.

His kisses are slow despite the urgency of his hands against my skin, his fingers that seem to be everywhere at once as his breathing quickens. Tangling in my hair, moving back down to my neck, up against to my ear lobes and then down, further, against my rib cage and hip bone and in turn, I want to touch all of him. I want to know what it's like under all of these sweaters he wears so well, the jeans that fit him so perfectly. Hesitating for a brief moment, I reach down and find where pants and wool meet. Sliding my hand between the slit I push until I feel the warmth of his stomach, the side of him and I let my whole hand in to explore his back. He doesn't resist. In fact, it only encourages him more and I feel him involuntarily press into me, hard against the bed, sucking my bottom lip for a moment before letting tongue and teeth come together again.

Feeling daring enough, I bring my other hand up beneath him to the opposite side and do the same so that both of my palms are feeling his warm skin and I slide up, feeling the shudder as I pull the sweater with me. I want to feel his bare stomach against mine and I pull and hear every little sigh as he licks against my lips, tugging up and up until he reaches behind his head, grabs the neck of his sweater and pulls it off completely, leave a mess of hair in it's wake. He smiles briefly at me before capturing my lips with his own again and I was right. It's perfect. Every breath he takes I can feel against my skin and I should be embarrassed to be so uncovered underneath him but I can't concentrate on that. I can only feel his back bone as I run my hands up it, hear him groan my name lightly, barely a whisper out loud against my neck as I do so, burying his face in my hair. It's enough. It's all the encouragement I need and I reach down, finding the hem of those jeans again.

I take the button in my first finger and thumb, the cool, round metal a perfect circle in the pad of it and I hook, pull lightly until the tug comes undone. Like a snap, like a spark that has gone off, he stops suddenly. His lips still pressed against mine and he finishes a kiss, leaving my hand wavering in the space between us.

He pulls back to look at me, his eyes dark but still and cupping my cheek he pauses for a second, taking a deep breath in.

"I didn't…I didn't plan on this…" he says and I nod, slowly, unsure of what he's trying to say.

"That's alright…I didn't plan on it either. I have to be up in like…three hours," I smile and he returns it, placing another kiss, long and soft on my bottom lip.

"I just meant…I just…I want this. Trust me," he chuckles softly, letting out a ragged breath as he does so and his eyes fall to the hollow of my throat, back to my face again before continuing, "I want this. I just…we should…we should probably…"

"Stop," I finish for him. Because I know that's where this is going.

"Right," he sighs, almost regretfully.

"You know, you might have mentioned that before you got me out of the towel," I whisper and he laughs again, never letting go of my cheek.

"I had to have you out of this towel from the second you answered the door," he admits, almost abashed. Honest. So strikingly honest and I know it's what his face meant now when I came to the door.

He stands, slowly, averting his eyes so that I can pull the towel up with me as he slides from my bed and heads to the doorway. As I hear it click behind him I can finally close my eyes, throw my hands over my face. How ridiculous. How confusing. How embarassing to be wearing nothing.

I stand and see my reflection in the mirror above my dresser. My hair is still damp at the ends, sticking up at the roots and my cheeks are as flush as they get. Digging through my drawers, feeling like perhaps I should have listened to Alice about the better underwear and possibly some nighties rule from earlier, I can only find an old Forks High School black volunteer t-shirt and some black cotton underpants. These will have to do. I slide them on, run a comb through my tangles and open the bedroom door.

Edward is standing in the kitchen, hands on head as he looks awkwardly from me to the floor. He's wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of grey boxers and he looks to me, tilting his head to the side slightly embarassed as he does so.

"I found this...it looks like a guy's...God, I hope it's a guys," he laughs. I can tell it's from the pile on the kitchen table I folded for Jasper not so long ago and I laugh and nod.

"You're safe...it's not Alice's," and he smiles appreciatively. He looks to me then, to the couch and back to me while I stand in my doorway, he arms crossed over my chest. Suddenly, I feel like I should be wearing more. Or that maybe he should have left altogether.

"Do you want me to take....I can sleep on the couch..." he gestures to it. I shrug. I don't really want him to stay on the couch. That's stupid. I don't want to be the only one to say so though. I want him to say he wants to stay in my bed with me. I want him to say he wants to do more than keep me safe tonight.

"It's up to you," I sigh and he looks to me for a moment, runs a hand through that tousle of hair again and sighs.

"I could...I mean, if I stayed with you I wouldn't...I wouldn't do anything," he says awkwardly. I shrug again. Appear indifferent, Bella. Act like you couldn't care less.

"That would be fine," I finally murmur and as the words leave my lips he finally has the courage to meet my gaze and smile. "Ok, then," he agrees. He takes a step forward but before he can get any closer I step out into the kitchen. Make sure the front door is locked, turn off the living room lights, empty the bathtub from my impromptu interuption earlier.

When I come back he's standing next to the bed, waiting. He seems like he has no idea what he should do, like he's never slept in a bed before and suddenly, I'm remembering Emmett's words.

"You don't share a room with anybody," I say outloud and he says nothing, just looking at me blankly.

"Sorry," I mutter, "Emmett told me you...you don't like to share with anybody...when you stay away on trips you stay at a seperate hotel and...you couldn't share a room as kids or anything," I'm trilling to explain. As I finish, he considers my words for a moment and then nods.

"Yeah, I don't. I mean, I don't usually sleep well when others are in the room. But I...I noticed when we slept on the couch the other night I didn't have any problem. Do you mind?" he asks suddenly, looking slightly concerned, "I never stopped to consider you'd be the same way."

"Oh no, I've been sleeping with people for years," I shrug him off. It's only several seconds after I say the words, when I see his eyes slightly squint, his lips quirk up in a smile that I realize what's come out of my mouth.

"I mean...I don't mean that," I try but he shakes his hands at me, as if to say no explanation is necessary.

"Let's just go to bed," I sigh finally. I step to the opposite side of the bed and throw one of the extra pillows to the floor. Following my lead, Edward stands on his side and does the same, grabbing the edge of my sheets in one hand as I do, pulling back in synch with myself. When I sit, he sits in the same position and when I slide one leg between the cool, lightness of my pale blue bedspread he does it as well until all I can see are the edge of those adorable boxer shorts. When I look up his eyes are almost glazed over, obviously exhausted.

We both get in completely and lie back, staring at the ceiling, hands across our chests. I look to him sideways a bit, and can see he's still staring straight ahead.

"Well....uh, goodnight," I laugh. I reach out one hand and with a final click, turn out my lamp. The room is completely black.  
"Goodnight," he sort of coughs out, sort of whispers. God, this is awkward. He should have just stayed on the couch. He should have just stayed at his own freaking hotel. At least then I might have been in bed twenty minutes ago without this to distract me from sleep altogether.

I close my eyes, try and let the rest of the night take over. It's almost four. This won't even constitute as a decent nap. This will make tomorrow hell, especially with having to work at the bookstore after class. I'll need a massive latte from Ernie and a Red Bull with my lunch. Do I even have clean clothes? Where is that green t-shirt I like to wear, that I don't mind getting binding oil on when I'm greasing their leather bound pieces? Where are those thick socks I like for the really cold days and oh shit, I don't think I prepared a lesson plan for my third hour-

His hand. In the midst of my brain rant I can feel it, soft and slow, under the covers. He's reached out and grasped my finger tips with his own. They're warm, comforting, sending a chill down to the tips of my toes. How could we have been getting hot and heavy not twenty minutes ago and something as small as hold handing could effect me in almost the same way?

"Goodnight, Bella," I hear him murmur, the sleep obviously taking him over as well. I loosen my fist the tiniest bit, winding my first and middle finger between his own. I smile into the night and close my eyes once more, finding the right spot on the pillow with my cheek.

"Goodnight," I whisper once more. He was right. I do feel better he's here. I don't care about tomorrow. There's no place I'd rather be in this very moment than here.


	14. The Very First

**And you guys thought I forgot about you. Sorry it's been crazy hectic but school and work are driving me crazy, plus there was some unexpected traveling a few times this and last month that threw me for a loop. Hope you're still enjoying and thank you for your lovely reviews and messages sent regarding this fic, it's been very encouraging to keep going on the days when I'm almost too tired to think about it!!**

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I'm not usually such a puss when it comes to being tired. Frankly, my life consists of being tired and sleeping intermittently and it's my choice. I've come to terms with it.

I know the tired that happens when you are riding in the car for too long. The tired that hits right in the middle of the afternoon, post potato soup style lunch and you think you just can't listen to what one more person has to say. The tired that occurs near the end of a movie where you almost don't care enough to finish it but know in your mind that you just have to. I've gotten used to the tired before my latte at Ernie's on particularly early mornings where I can't even bring myself to say anything remotely decent to Alice and resort to simply grunting instead. The tired thunderstorms bring. The tired of stopping for the first time in the middle of a busy day and letting your eyes shut for the briefest second that they actually sting behind your lids and you realize for the first time just how tired you are.

These were all nothing compared to the tired that hit me on Wednesday morning. It was a soul crushing tired. The kind where I opened my eyes and saw that the alarm was clearly going off and I reached out to touch it with one hand that felt like it weighed three hundred pounds and I swore, I only blinked for a moment when half an hour had passed. If it weren't for the fact that Edward's leg was stuck to mine due to the sweat building beneath my heavy down comforter I doubt I would have acknowledged the world at all. I took one look at those cursed red numbers and sighed audibly. The later in the fall it got the darker it stayed in the mornings and this was no exception which only added to my fatigue.

I'm not proud of it. I can honestly say that I've never done it before and the guilt that I carried with me for the rest of the day guarantees that I'll never do it again. But I did it. I picked up the cell phone resting next to my glass of water and called the substitute hot line. I arranged for all of my classes to spend the entire day in the media center as long as they weren't already occupied to work on the essays and journal assignments in case they were behind. I hung up that phone with such a final snap and dug my face deep into the warm spot on the bed where my neck had once been. I didn't even look when I felt his hand slide across those sheets and wrap around my torso, pulling me to him in such a heavy slumber I doubt we even realized what we were doing. We found that place where perfect sleep meets perfect snuggle and we got our snuggle ON. I opened my eyes later to see that the clock said 10 and his face was covered in stubble and his lips were parted as he breathed, slow and steady with my eyes level to his chin. I opened my eyes again at 11:15 and felt his nose pressed to the back of my ear, his hands wrapped around my own that were cupped near my face. Finally, at noon I opened my eyes to find the bed empty. It was the only thing to snap me up, to make me blink more than once.

He had left? Was he seriously the type to sleep in with me and then leave? No, there were sounds. Not bathroom sounds either, like the man who needs to brush his teeth with your junk before making his quick get away, practically tying his shoes and walking out at the same time. No, these were the sounds of metal on metal.

I dragged myself from the weight of the sheets, traipsed across my already disaster of a room and stood in the doorway to see him with his back to me. Still in those boxer shorts and t-shirt. Hair a mess but still perfect, of course, even from behind and with a spatula in hand as he stood at my stove. He scratched the back of his left leg with his right toe and shifted his weight as he flipped a pancake on the pan in front of him. Coffee was made, sweet, blissful coffee and the table was set. Not with flowers or napkins, in fact, he opted for our plastic ware it seemed like, but the gesture was still cute.

I must have stood there for a full two minutes before he felt me in the room and, turning slowly over his shoulder, shot me a smile and waved with the cooking utensil.

"I didn't want to wake you. I mean, I tried once but you called me a…what was it, a…a rat bastard perhaps? Anyway, I thought you might be hungry. I hope you don't mind" he began, gesturing towards his creations.

"Of course I mind," I muse, pulling up a seat at the table and tucking my legs close to my chest, "It's always very upsetting when a handsome man spends the morning cuddling and then cooking you breakfast. You rat bastard," I smile and his lips pull up on one side.

"That's burning," I point behind him and he jumps, startled, grabbing a cake off the griddle. It's charred on one side and, like he's disposing of a great work of art, Edward hesitates while looking at it disconcertedly for a moment longer and then slides it delicately into the trash. The man is not used to failing, it would seem.

"I have to admit," he sighs, putting a plate in front of me of the roundest, golden brown pancakes I've ever seen in my life, "I was quite pleased you called in to work this morning. I don't think I would have been able to get out of bed if you hadn't."

"Well, it would seem that my playing hooky caused you to be a bit of a slacker as well, so maybe it wasn't the best idea I've ever had," I say sullenly, realizing that he's still here with me for one of the last days he has to actually be at work. The reason he's in London in the first place.

"It would seem that no matter what you've been up to the past few days I've been playing hooky regardless, wouldn't it?" he asks me quite honestly. He says it so simply, not bothering to look up from the plates he's setting out in front of us, the syrup he keeps rearranging from one side of the table to the other. I pull a cake apart with my fingers delicately and put a piece to my lips, thinking to myself before answering.

"You know, I don't actually have to be anywhere until this evening for my shift at the bookstore."

"Fantastic. What should we do? I'm curious about why you were covered in paint the other day, perhaps we could"-

"Actually," I interrupt him and it takes all that I have not to back down from the request I'm about to make, "I was thinking that since you came to work with me, I could…go to work…with you."

There is silence. The kind of silence that only Edward knows how to create that's tense and you don't even want to meet his gaze because his face is always so hard to read. I jam more pancake in my mouth, watching the lines of Alice's favorite table cloth become a mesh of blur in my eyesight, I'm concentrating on it that hard.

Finally, FINALLY, like a television suddenly unmated I hear him clear his throat, breaking the tension. I look up to see his pursed lips pulling away from the cup of coffee he holds to them, black and steaming against his face and his eyebrows are furrowed in thought.

"That," he finally says lightly and then tries again, louder this time, "I suppose that is only fair."

"Really?" I can't help but ask in a surprised tone. It takes everything I have not to utter the words, 'Holy crap' out loud simply because I never believed, not for a second, he would actually take me to work with him. Take me to the company that his family owns, that the President of the United States has been honoring for all of their medical contributions? The place that Edward has been avoiding like the plague, the place he's here for and yet, for some reason, can't stand to be around. He's actually going to take me and I leap to my feet suddenly.

"When do you want to leave?" I ask, turning to the clock. Almost 12:30 in the afternoon and I can hear Edward's chuckling as I'm frantically searching the kitchen for traces of clean laundry. There has got to be clean underwear SOMEWHERE in this apartment. I can't possibly go to Cullen Enterprises, the place of employment of my pseudo-sleeping-partner-boyfriend-for-a-week without some clean freaking underpants.

"Bella," Edward says, pulling my attention to his smiling face and a newspaper spread out in front of him on the table, "You think we might have a bit of breakfast first? It will still be there in an hour, you know," he mocks me and blushing, I nod. I take my seat again, pulling apart a fresh pancake, feeling it melt like butter against my tongue and watch Edward closely. The careful way he spreads the tiniest square of butter across the top of his own stack, the way he lifts his cup of coffee to his mouth again while gazing over the front page of the press. The way the boy eats, we could be here until this evening glancing over the funnies and that would kill me. This is my chance. My opportunity to find out some of the things that Edward keeps hidden so well, the people he knows and the actual things he does at his job. What he's avoiding. What he's hiding from and keeping hidden. It's like a real life freakin mystery and he is busy cutting his pancakes into meticulous little squares so perfect I might actually-

"Edward!" I blurt out of control, feeling my hands strain against the table top and he looks up, midcut and startled.

"Sorry, I just….I just remembered."

"Remembered what?"

"I hate pancakes," I answer without two thoughts and his face drops the tiniest bit.

"You hate pancakes?" he confirms, slowly, disbelieving and looking to the enormous pile he's placed on the table.

"It's not that hate them," I back track, feeling awful, 'I'm not just much of a breakfast person. Coffee, really, is all I can handle."

"So you…don't like breakfast," he asks once again.

"Correct."

"Bella," he sighs and a smile is still playing on his lips as he does so, "go get dressed. We'll leave in ten minutes."

"Victory," I cry and bolt to my room. I can hear him laughing as I tug on the black pants and red sweater I was planning on wearing to work today. My hair is wavier than I expected from having slept on the wet ends last night and so I pull it back in two barrettes at the sides of my head and let it just hang after a few rounds with the brush. I look decent. I look like I could inconspicuously pass for a visitor at any office, right? Frankly, I don't care.

By the time I fly back into the kitchen, Edward has found his pants and shirt from the night before. The breakfast dishes are piled in the sink and the food wrapped in little containers along the counter as he places them one by one in the fridge.

"Wow," he muses as he closes the door, "you're really ready to go."

"I'm sorry. If you're regretting this…I mean, if you don't feel comfortable taking me you don't have to."

"I don't suppose it's occurred to you…as I've said many times before…that I fully understand I don't have to do anything I don't want to do," he smiles at me as he approaches. Tenderly he places his hands on my arms and slides them down until he's cupped my fingers in his own and I can feel my face grow as red as my sweater.

"So you _want_ to take me then?" I push and he laughs in response.

"Yes, I suppose I want to take you."

"Well let's go then."

"First," he interrupts, striding over to my couch and pulling up the handle of the bag I keep my camera in, "things first."

"Why do we need that?" I ask and he looks from the bag to me in thought for a moment before answering.

"We've got these great photographs in the main entry of our building. The first snap shots of the construction…when we broke ground, when we cut the ribbon, when the first patient was admitted. Huge black and whites of our beginning." He extends his hand and I take the strap between my fingers, feeling the greatest sense of deja vous as I do so.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"They're all so obvious," he answers, looking to me blankly, as if I should have caught on by now to what he's getting at. "Every company has those sorts of picture in their entry way. Thought it might be a nice change to get something different." I'm staring at him, my eyebrows quirked in confusion I'm sure. He wants me to take pictures of people working in his building? Of the everyday so he can hang them in place of the professional ones he actually paid someone to take? The ones that capture the historical moments of his company's beginning?

"I'm employing you, Bella," he finally sighs and heads toward the front door, "Just like everyone else in this neighborhood. You can come to work with me today as an employee. No rules, nothing specific I want you to shoot. Just…shoot. We'll see what we get."

"You just want me to shoot pictures…of anything," I answer and he nods.

"The dude who sells coffee in the lobby…take his picture?" I ask and he nods again.

"Large people stuffed together in elevators?" and he laughs, still nodding.

"People who are obviously trying to get work done. Doctors running around to save lives, scientists carrying important test tubes and radioactive equipment from one floor to the next. As an employee I can just say 'Oh excuse me Mr. Very Busy and Important but if you could just pose next to this Fica plant over here I'd really appreciate it?,' and they have to because I say so and you want me to take this genius photograph of them"- and suddenly he's grabbing my arm, dragging me out the door.

"Why do I have a feeling I'm going to regret this," is all he mumbles before it slams defiantly behind us.

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I had an inkling of what Cullen Enterprises, London style might look like. For some reason when I picture Edward and his original stand-offish appearance, the way he formally greets and speaks to everyone, a girl can only assume if given the chance to design a building the boy would choose glass and metal. I imagined huge looming windows for floors and floors with sleek sterling silver and sharp angles. I pictured large, black, marble flooring and high desks with a woman who sits behind it answering one of those state of the art telephones that looks more like an FBI wire on her head than a land line and she's so sleek that it actually says in her job description, "Attire is black pencil skirts and wire rimmed glasses, chignon and please, if at all possible, keep nose in air for six out of eight hour work periods." It just would make sense that he would work in that sort of facility, that he would have wanted it that way.

You can imagine my surprise, then, when he pulled his car up after forty minutes of driving to a simple, four story, red brick building. The windows in front were decked out in white shutters and boxes of the last remnants of summer's blossoms were clinging from their edges, completely untamed. Lush lawns surrounded the parking lot where an older man was hacking away with a weed wacker and a nurse, full in white pointed hat was wheeling a woman in a chair across a stone path to the right of the building.

I hesitate getting out of the car, pausing to watch the few people walk in and out, going about their daily lives and turn to Edward, unsure of where to begin. Like he's reading my mind, he quirks up half a smile knowingly.

"Not quite what you expected for such a powerful company?"

"I just…I mean, you told me to Google you and I did and this…this isn't quite what I thought we'd be seeing…"

"You know, all businesses have to begin somewhere," he says and he gestures to the building, "this is the first building of Cullen Enterprises."

"It's a hospital?"

"Sort of. More like long term patient care. For the elderly, terminally ill…" and his voice softens as he speaks, unsure of how to continue. "It's how we started."

"You started your company with an old folks home? Billions of dollars in pharmaceuticals and technological research began with….with Jell-o and fluffing pillows?"

"You know, if you don't like it we can leave. I can take you downtown to our office building and you can take pictures of people in suits and a thousand individuals who couldn't give a damn about what we really do," he says haughtily and immediately I'm regretting my comment, trying to protest but he interrupts me further, talking loudly as he does so.

"Or you can come in here and see the only building out of our hundreds that I can actually stand to be in. The first of many that gave us the capital to take over companies as powerful as Volt Vi and be as large as we are today."

"…I wasn't trying to insult this. I was just surprised. Impressed…and surprised," I say slowly and I'm trying hard to get his attention. He finally looks into my eyes and after a moment of holding my gaze, they soften and he nods in understanding.

We get out of the car and amble towards the front walk and the smell immediately hits me as we do so. That pending fall air that is so crisp and get yet someone somewhere is burning something and the smoke is light and distinct as it wafts past. There are chrysanthemum's and goldenrod blooming in bright yellows and purples and the smell is strong in the mid afternoon sun and I can't help but stop and stoop. I take the camera out of my bag, giving Edward a gaze that dares him to protest and get close enough to see every petal on one of the blooms before I press the button and capture its radiant colors in the light.

As we walk in the front doors there are actual nurses, in the same attire as the one in the lot complete with the white shoes and hats checking paperwork at the front desk. Instead of standing, asking us our names which I suppose I should have assumed she would know better than to do, she simply smiles and waves as we walk past. Edward, clearly on a mission, takes me through the front hall to a set of stairs and on the way I see the exact photographs he's talking about.

All are fourteen by eleven shots, framed in simply cherry wood. They're not the pictures I imagined at all of the beginning of a business but that of a family, it would seem, getting their hands dirty in the making of a home. Men and women, children and elderly are in every shot putting pieces together, making goofy faces when they should be working, arms clasped around one another's necks and backs like this is the proudest moment they've ever seen. This is the proudest moment they'll ever know.

A man shaking the hand of another as the ground behind them is broken for this very building. A woman elbow deep in dirt as she plants flowers, the sun blinding her as she stares into the camera long enough to pose. She's beautiful, with dark hair falling in her eyes. The same eyes I saw making pancakes this morning, bright and laughing as the person they belong to work. They're there again, with her arms wrapped around the waist of a man as they pose in front of the half finished product and on that man's face is Edward's blazing smile. Pictures of men at work with hard hats, laying brick into place. Pictures of a doctor and nurse holding medical charts at the front desk. A picture of two young boys, feet flying in the dust behind them on the very front lawn we just walked across. I can't help it. I stop and leer closer to the photograph, taking in their small frames, their lopsided grins, their dirty shirts and untied shoes. One slighter more filled out than the other, who's lanky and taller, their arms laced around one another's necks. There is no denying that careless, goofy grin of Emmett, that tall, serious and smiley demeanor of Edward.

I hear his feet pause at the end of the hall a few feet ahead of me and he turns slowly.

"Edward…why would you ever want to replace these?" I barely whisper.

"I don't want to replace them. I just think it might be nice to have something new to add to them."

"I can't believe that's you…that's you and Emmett, isn't it?" I ask and he nods tersely.

"So these," I continue and I take a few steps backward to where we began, pointing at the laughing couple with their arms around one another, "These are the owners who built this?"

"Yes," he answers.

"They opened the first Cullen Hospital?" I repeat and again, he answers yes quickly and confidently.

"These are your parents?" I finally ask. I can't beat around the bush. No nod this time. Not so much as a light sigh as he turns on his heel and begins up the steps, leaving me behind as he talks.

"We have a lot to see Bella if you want to start taking your shots." With that he disappears beyond the curve of the steps, the only thing to lead me is the sound of his shoes on the linoleum. I take a final look at his mother's smiling face, her hands digging deep into the blossoms as she placed them along the walk way and run to catch up with him.

The second floor is decorated a cheery yellow from floor to ceiling and Edward is waiting patiently next to a giant oil canvas painting of Daffodils in a vase when I make it to the top of the stairs. The doors to each room, as far down as I can see, are wide open and sunlight from the afternoon pours into the walkway as we make it to the nurses station. A woman in her forties is sitting behind the desk and smiles up as we approach, pulling on the edges of her pink cardigan as she stands and extends her hand for Edward to shake.

"How are you doing today sweetheart?" she asks and it throws me off guard completely. That's not exactly the way I expected staff to great the CEO of a company and yet, Edward smiles back just as warmly and takes her hand into his own as he comes around the desk.

"Ramona, this is a dear friend of mine, Bella. She's here to take pictures today with some of the staff and patients, as long as that's alright with you."

"Honey, you know I don't care what you do around here as long you don't get Mrs. Watts so worked up she wets that bed again," she laughs and waves him off. I'm looking from his smiling face to hers in such unabashed confusion I can't even contain my surprise. Mrs. Watts, the bed wetting patient? Edward doesn't even wear a suit and tie to his office? This is the pressing work he had to come home for this week? This is what Rosalie, the ultra chic and ever important business partner traveled across the globe with him for? Some Daffodil oil prints and a twenty year old building that's no busier than my own school on a Sunday?

"Well it's wonderful to meet you dear. You're a photographer, Bella?" Ramona asks me, reaching out to shake my hand and it takes a second for me to snap to attention, shrugging as I reach out to her.

"Not exactly. Edward's a bit….presumptuous in my skills. I don't think he's seen a single picture of mine actually printed out yet," I laugh and realize as I say the words, I'm absolutely right. All of the rolls we've taken, even from the wedding, are still in canisters at the bottom of my bag. Ramona is laughing as I speak, nodding her head as she crosses her arms.

"Well, as much as I hate to admit it, I wouldn't doubt it. This boy can call skill like I've never seen in my life."

"Call skill?" I ask and he shakes his head, obviously embarrassed as she continues.

"So this man comes in here, what…five years ago, is that?" she begins, looking to Edward for confirmation and he kind of nods, not able to bring his eyes up to meet mine as she tells her story but if his embarrassment is serious, she doesn't seem to care about it.

"So he comes in and Edward is working behind the desk with me that day…doing reports or I don't know what. This man comes right up and says that he needs a job and he's not leaving until he gets one because he has three kids and can't bear to see them starve and the whole ordeal and we're just sitting there listening and the whole time this man is talking I'm thinking to myself, 'I'm going to have to phone security, aren't?' but this one here," she laughs, her thumb cocked to Edward as she does so, "just sits there and listens to the whole sob story. And when the man finishes he stands up and asks the man straight up, "What is it you can do for us?"

"Well the man is so shocked that he's even considering hiring him that he doesn't have an answer. He came all this way, gave the whole speech about having to have a job and doesn't have a single skill to offer us?"

"So a few minutes go by and Edward finally tells him, 'You know, you look like you'd be good with some of the electrical problems we've been having on the fourth floor. Lights flickering and everything. You get that fixed by the end of the day, you might have yourself a job."

"Did he fix the problem?" I ask, finding myself completely captivated by this woman's story and she nods her head slowly.

"Sort of," she smiles, "turns out we had raccoons…was it? Raccoons chewed their way through a main line and the entire fourth floor wiring had to be replaced. Dug up the entire front lawn, cost a fortune to get all of that fixed."

"This guy fixed all of that?" I ask, seriously impressed with how this turned out.

"No, actually, he stayed on as a general laborer around the building."

"I don't…I don't get it," I say, suddenly feeling stupid about not making the connection, "how is it Edward is so great at calling skill then if he never did anything else with wires?"

"I'm sorry, I'm losing the story," she laughs waving her hands at me, "he stayed on as a laborer for regular pay and Mr. Cullen paid for his classes at the University. He's an electrical engineer now, isn't that right?" she asks and Edward nods in confirmation as she does so.

"Better with electrical problems than he ever knew," Ramona wraps up. At the same time Edward reaches out his hand and takes mine in his own, pulling me towards him.

"That was delightful, Ramona, truly," he is laughing as we walk and pulls me along, "but there's a lot she hasn't seen yet."

"Wait," I say, planting my feet in a sudden halt and reach into the bag, pulling the cover off the lens quickly as I do so, "One shot," I say. I pull the picture into focus as I take in Ramona standing behind her station, head cocked to one side and laughing smile on her face as she holds whatever paperwork she was originally working on. I take the shot and smile at her as I begin walking away.

"Thank you," I call as we take off and I hear her light voice in return before we disappear around the first bend. Edward still isn't talking as we stride forward clearly on a mission but I can't help but comment on what I just heard.

"That was a…a great story Edward," I begin and he shrugs from ahead of me, not really answering.

"I mean, it's not just that you gave him a job or guessed at what he'd be good at, " I continue, trying to get him to at least look at me while I pay him this compliment. "It's that you paid for his classes so he could get an even better job. That's really amazing, not a lot of employers would do that for their laborers, especially…"

"I didn't," he answers brusquely, still not turning as we walk.

"Didn't what?"

"Didn't pay for his classes," he states and I pull on his hand, stopping us in the hall until he finally has to look at me, clearly frustrated, his eyes darting around the hall as we stand there.

"She just said you...that you paid"-

"No, she didn't Bella. She said Mr. Cullen paid for the classes."

"But you're"-

"No, I'm not. I'm Edward, to Ramona. I have been since she started babysitting me when I was seven and she was twenty seven and a new nurse here. She wasn't talking about me. She was talking about my father. _The _Mr. Cullen."

"Oh." It's all I can think to say. I'm feeling like an idiot. Of course she would be talking about his father. Four years ago Edward wasn't even in charge of this company yet; he wouldn't have had any authority or resources to hire someone off the streets and then send him away to college just because he felt kind enough to do so.

"That was very kind of him," I say timidly. Frankly, the look on Edward's face, completely tight and terse as he glances around the hall is enough to stop the flow of conversation right there. I can't help it though. I want to know more and this is obviously something he doesn't want to talk about which only makes me that much more curious.

"Yes, well, I'm quite sure that was the last kind act he committed for this company so let's hope that man at least appreciates it," he mutters, more under his breath than to me and he turns on his heel, beginning his stride back down the hallway towards the next set of stairs looming in the distance.

"Why was that the last thing?" I call after him but he doesn't stop, doesn't even turn around.

"Edward," I call out, quickening my step to catch up, 'Edward why was that the last"-

"Because," Edward growls back towards me and he extends his left hand in a forceful fist of the next room he passes. Slamming it hard and sending a shiver of jolted surprise down my back as he does so the door wings open, hit's the wall behind it and begins to shut again. It doesn't close so fast, however, that I don't see into it as I run past the sight of a lone figure covered from next to toe in a hospital bed, his face covered in medical equipment.

"It's quite difficult to do anything from there, isn't it?" he asks, gesturing to the bed. He doesn't stop walking. He's reached the staircase before me again, taking them two at a time and disappearing around the bend.

The only difference is that this time I don't follow him. I stand perfectly still in the doorway to this quiet hospital room, to the sleeping man and his only company the hum of the machines keeping him alive. This is why Edward is the newest CEO of his company. This man is undoubtedly Edward's father.


	15. Come Undone

**So I took a few weeks because I was having a hard time getting my head around this whole writing forum thing. While I love to do it I noticed in reading others that the reviews are off the charts and that is what pushes some authors to keep going, giving their audience what they crave. The funny thing is that I get messages DAILY saying new readers have added me to story alert, favorite story, etc and yet not a single word, either good or bad in my direction which makes writing frustrating. I mean, if you don't know if your audience hates it or loves, where is the real motivation?**

**I won't give up on it and I promise to finish because it's a huge pet peeve of mine to follow someone who's onto something really good and never gives me some satisfaction of complete at the end and I would never do that to my readers. I'm not one to beg for reviews but it is nice to have a comment every now and then as I've said, good or bad, to let me know about the path I'm on.**

**SMeyers owns it all. Happy reading!**

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There were several things to follow though I can't recall quite in which order they occurred after Edward disappeared down the stairs. I could hear my own breath as I stared into that room, that desolate and quiet room where an older man lay surviving off the breathe of a machine. I remember taking one step forward, wanting to see closer. Is this where those troubled eyes came from? Is this the man that gave Emmett his booming voice and Edward that tousled hair? I wanted to touch his hands, stroke the soft flesh of his face because I had a feeling that here, in this place, as friendly as it was to its inhabitants, that face was rarely touched by a truly caring hand.

I could only sputter silently, debating my next move. What would be more appropriate? Caressing a stranger or chasing my troubled, and quite possibly psychotic, lover to the next unknown domain? Physically and emotionally. Where else could this man take me in such a short time?

I opted for the second and heard the squeak of my shoes on linoleum as I left that hallway. I could hear the faint sound of metal on metal chink in the stairwell below me and took off after it. Two at a time I ran, somehow almost gracefully, until the last three steps that I missed and swung haphazardly off the banister in order to catch myself. From there my hips blasted into the heavy door in front of me and one confusing moment later I was staggering in the sunshine of the day. The back of the building, a grassy bank in front of us while Edward paced, his hands to his face and his hair, refusing to turn around and acknowledge my presence.

"What the hell was that?" I ask before I can stop myself. Let's try for gentle, Bella. Gentle.

"I'm sorry," he sighs, still not looking up. Just shaking his head, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. "I haven't been there since I arrived. I thought…I thought if I…."

"You thought what?" I press and he pivots to face me, looking strained for the words, looking everywhere in the sky but to my face.

"I don't know what I thought. That it was easier with you? That if I brought you along I would be able to do it without feeling this…this weight," he struggles on the last word, bringing a clenched fist to his chest for emphasis. Is he going to cry? Oh Jesus, what will I do if he starts to cry? I hardly know what to do when Alice starts to cry.

"Is this why you're here?" I finally ask, trying to put the pieces together. "Is this why you have no real work schedule? You have nowhere you're really supposed to be? Are you here to see him, your obligatory once a year meeting and get out as soon as you're done?" I'm trying to wrap my head around the words, the concept that someone could do that. He still doesn't meet my eyes, pacing the sidewalk, hands on his hips.

Because there is only complete silence to answer my questions, I can only assume I am right. This is why Edward has nowhere he really has to be. He comes under this pretense of work but allows himself to be distracted by anything. Anything that will keep him company, keep him out of this building and room full of memories. Why he refuses to spend time with the family that knows his real reasons for being here. Why him and Emmett don't get along. The son who stayed versus the son who fled. The one with the courage and the one with the cowardice.

"Where…where is your mother?" I ask, again without thinking. As if this isn't hard enough for him. As if he isn't pained enough to be here, but to have to tell me, his distraction, who doesn't deserve an explanation in the first place.

"He had a stroke while driving," he says and the way it escapes his lips, it's almost a question. Like he's not quite sure himself if it's true. "He hit a pole and she…she was passenger and…" and that's all he needs to say.

It begins to occur to me that this is what I really should have been Googling when I looked up Cullen Enterprises. When all I wanted was to see who his latest girlfriend in Hollywood had been, I should have looked to see why such a young man was in charge in the first place. How someone twenty six years old hit CEO and the other son chose to play video games in some lost subsection of London. What had I been smoking? Where had my head been?

"Rosalie…?"I mutter. She doesn't fit in the puzzle.

"My father's first assistant when he transferred to the states. She couldn't bring herself to come visit him before now. She wasn't ready yet…" and like a soft click, she makes sense again. The beautiful blonde in a dark jacket bringing the car around for us last Sunday. The reason she has no work to do also. Sure he might have some things for her to be pulling together while they visit but more than anything else, she's here for the same reason he is. To visit, to stroke the hand I so wanted to touch. To pay homage to the man that gave her a fantastic job with a burgeoning company.

"I still don't understand why you brought me here," I finally sigh. Now it is I who doesn't fit in the puzzle and it's starting to hurt more than realizing I was simply the distraction. He doesn't answer.

"I'd like to go home though," I mutter and turn on my heel. My bag sways off my shoulder and I round the corner, hearing the soft pad of my shoes on the sidewalk as I round the bend. I can see the parking lot loom ahead, the black car waiting for our return and I simply lean against it, my head in my hands until he shows up next to me. Unlocks it in silence. Starts the engine quietly. Drives without a single sound. We should have stayed home for pancakes. I never should have begged him to bring me here. I wish I had never met him.

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When he pulls up to my curb I can't even look in his direction. Part of me wants to hold his face in my hands and tell him that being hurt and afraid and trying to make it all go away is fine. It's what I've been doing too. I'm a coward too, I want to scream! I'm no better, we're one in the same! And yet, the other part of me is in pain. I've become the babysitting job, the wedding photographs. I am the volunteer project after a day at a high school and a tennis match with an old lady. I am the handout that needs help and in turn he never has to look at his own life. I am the thing that has kept him sleeping in and staying up late, enraptured in some stupid song in some lonely bar. He looks at me the way I look at the way things that keep me moving. Nothing but time fillers. The things that allow me to not really feel anything. And because I'm the numb feeling he carries around in his back pocket for his convenience, I want to holler at him that at least we aren't the same! At least I never used a person! At least I never had a rebound, toyed with a heart that so begged not to be toyed with.

For that, when the car comes to a stop I hear him open his mouth to finally speak but I don't stick around to hear the words. I make it out of the vehicle in record speed, hit the sidewalk with my foot and keep running until I am through my building door, up the stairs and into my apartment. With the deadbolt firmly in place behind me. The first cod I can find that isn't from him jammed into the player. Take me away, Mat Kearney. Help me get lost in dirty laundry and a weeks worth of menus. Lesson plans. Seville shifts. Take me away. Keep me moving from something completely new.

To my relief, he doesn't follow me. I find myself standing over the sink eating half a turkey sandwich in dulling thoughts. I have just spent the last two hours making phone calls for the week. Sure, Ernie, I'd love to help you on Friday morning set up for the bake sale on our block. I'd love to take Bethany and Ron to a movie on Saturday before my shift at Seville's. I've organized a volunteer project for my student's Thursday after class at the bookstore. Sidewalk sale and lemonade before the fall weather finally makes it's threatening turn for the worse towards winter. I need to go grocery shopping tonight after the bookstore as long as I hurry, the grocery closes at ten. I almost pat myself on the back. This is much better Bella. This is where you belong. By the time Alice comes back you won't even have to pretend you haven't been crying the remainder of the week. You'll have been too busy to do so. You're still the same girl.

I glance at the clock. 4, crap, I have fifteen minutes to run six blocks to the book store. I guess it could be worse. I grab my fall coat that fits snuggly over my red sweater and snap a clip into the tangle of brown hair on my back. This feels more familiar. The prep before running out the door. This is starting to feel like me again.

I've only had to describe Bee's Books to one other person, Charlie, over the phone when I told him I got a second job. I tried to put it into words for Alice the first day I passed by it but in between my jumbled up words "purple couch" and "smells like incense but looks like a brothel" she quirked her finely lined eyebrows at me, raised a hand as if to stop me right there and wouldn't let me go back until she accompanied and saw it herself.

The weird thing is that as odd as Bee's is, it's probably the most comfortable store I've ever been in and I've taken a cat nap on those display beds at Bed, Bath and Beyond in my day. There's something about the people there. Or, perhaps, the lack of people. There's something quaint about being paid in two books an hour as opposed to cash that calls to me. People really do speak only at a whisper. It's so dark, narrow and dusty between the aisles you need to turn on your side and bend your knees to the side as opposed to in front of you to see what's on the bottom racks. Bee, or better known as Beatrice, keeps red flashlights at the register for customers to pick up to help find what they're searching for. She claims she has extremely sensitive vision and that sunlight, or even fluorescent overheads could throw her into a fit at any moment which is why she keeps it lit with low yellows and blues that hang from odd lamps and chandeliers in all the corners and above the tables. Over the windows are thick wooden shutters that have been in the same shut position for so long I tugged one once to see what a noise was outside only to have it creak and crack right in my hands, two of the wooden planks crumbling off from the movement.

I hear the familiar croak of a frog at my feet as I push my way into the door, running my hands over the black inking that reads a heavy title on the window as I do so. Bee had it installed because bells also give her migraines, though I don't know where or how or even what this croaking frog alerter consists of. Just that it's always been there and anything else wouldn't fit in here.

Bee is behind the register which is actually a large workman's desk, angled towards her the way architects have drafting tables set up in their favor. She likes to trace the image of sleeping children when she's not busy which is pretty often if you ask me. She keeps workers in her doors on a strictly volunteer basis because the most she can really afford to pay them and keep herself afloat on is books, which is fine by me anyway. Tonight's shift alone will get me the entire set of Lord of the Rings I've been eyeing in the back for weeks as well as some others from the recent releases table up front. She smiles as she sees me approach and immediately grabs her purse to her right.

"Thank you for doing this, Bella. I've got Tai Kwon Do at four thirty at Murphy's and I hate to miss it. Plus, I think he's going to ask me out for coffee afterward. You ok to close up?" she asks me and I nod a reassurance, settling into her warm seat as she slides out.

"Of course. Key still in the same spot?" I murmur and she nods again.

"There are jelly beans in the back if you get hungry," she calls out to me as she opens the door and slides out into the sunshine, her large, bug-eyed sunglasses in place before she turns her face in the direction of her path. Bee isn't old and yet something about the way she carries herself - lots of eccentric scarves and curly, blonde hair piled on top of her head…gloves with the tips cut off adorn her fingers….they tell me her soul is a lot older than thirty five.

I help myself to a handful of jelly beans that are, in fact, awaiting my reach on the back counter and skim the latest inventory list she's created on a piece of list paper with a sleeping cat at the top. This can't possibly be professional. She's spelled "Bronte" incorrectly and her slash marks are less than readable but still, this is the system that works best for Bee. I take out the note cards she keeps in the filing system behind her and begin writing the titles. Who needs a computer when you can alphabetize your book titles on a ton of unnecessary note cards and an absurdly large wooden filing system along one entire wall when customers want to find a particular title? I'm almost positive Bee hasn't thrown out half of the cards for books she's sold but it's also impossible to keep up with her. For every evening I'm here I get through maybe 1 percent of what she owns only to have her do a million more steps in the opposite direction during the week when I'm not here. I don't know why I bother but I do. It's good to keep busy, even if the work is sometimes mindless.

I print the titles of book carefully in my best handwriting and the year, the author, the publisher, the ISBN. Bee never writes this stuff and I don't know why I do. Perhaps it makes the job last longer. Perhaps it's the way I can differentiate hers from mine in the masses. Seeing those little marks reminds me I've been here before. A way of waving to myself from the past, I guess whenever I come across one of my cards for a customer.

An old man comes in and peruses the front shelves for nothing in particular before finally settling on a handful of peppermint drops from the jar up front and leaving. The dust dances in the light from the street as he makes his quick exit in the air around the doorway and it makes me almost laugh. This place couldn't possibly pass a health inspection, could it? Does she even have a license to run this place? Then again, does it matter?

I finish the stack at my feet and find another beneath a table in the back as well as a box on a high shelf in back that's been there for who knows how long. I begin to fill the cart that is actually missing one wheel and is a hell of a dance to get down aisle ways as I go. When it's sufficiently tall enough to make a huge mess should the cart decide to tip over on the way, a likely occurrence, I push with all the might I have in my arms until I reach the first row and unload the titles from Kingsley Amis, Margaret Atwood, Augusten Burroughs. There comes a point where I simply cannot fit anymore in the spaces between the pages and I have to lay books on top of one another but that's the way Bee prefers it anyway than to add a new shelf or shift hundreds of books. It's simpler this way. Messier but definitely simpler.

I'm elbows deep in the G's, trying to find a decent copy Edward Gibbon's Rise and Fall when I hear the croak and lean back to get a closer look. My shoulders hit the shelf behind me and still I can't peer around the shelf far enough to make out the door in all the dim light and call out.

"Hello?"

"Bella? Where are you?"

"Emmett?" I call out in surprise. "Emmett, are you in the book store?!" I drop the Ginsberg in my fingers to the floor and swipe the dust at my pants. Sure enough, ambling down my aisle way is Emmett with a popsicle in one fist, pushing his wide shoulders through the small space.

"Bella, seriously, this is the creepiest place I've ever been in. Why in God's name do you work here?" he asks, leaning to one side to avoid a spider web. Lord, that's never a good sign. I clearly haven't been through the J's in a while….

"You really think it's creepy?" I ask and look around to my looming shelves, my books that tower higher than my arms can extend and I take a deep whiff in. Jelly beans, moth balls…paint? Incense of cinnamon and cheeseburgers. I couldn't be happier.

"Yes, I definitely think it's creepy. The Manson family would think this place is creepy."

"Well, the pay is just my style," I shrug and he shakes his head again, seriously concerned for my wellbeing.

"What are you doing here?" I finally think to ask, returning to my cart burdened with awaiting books. He sucks hard on his popsicle before taking a bite and shrugs his shoulders.

"I dunno. Esme heard you were up here, thought I'd come by and see what you were up to."

I turn to look at him as he utters this nonchalantly and feel my eyes narrow without meaning to.

"You just…felt like hanging out," I surmise dryly. He shrugs again, nods. Another pull of his popsicle.

"At the bookstore where I work," I say and he nods again.

"Did you bring me a popsicle?" I ask, cocking my head to the side. He pauses for a second before sheepishly extending his fist and half finished dessert and I sigh heavily, dropping my armload where I stand.

"What happened?" I ask and he feigns a look of shock that even in the dim light I can make out clearly.

"What happened when?"

"Why are you really here?"

"You're really upset about the popsicle?"

"Emmett," I growl, crossing my arms in front of myself. "Why did Esme really send you here?" I ask and feel the glare radiating from my pupils to his stricken face. He takes another slow bite, finally reaching the place where white meets red and relinquishes defeat.

"Es said you might have had a rough day," he finally admits.

"Might have?" I prompt.

"Alright. I guess my jack-ass brother came by and said you two had a….a thing or whatever and she was worried you'd still be upset."

"So you're first up on suicide watch?" I assume and brush in the tiny space passed him into the opening of the aisle, storming towards the front desk.

"Well you don't have to be that dramatic. She just worries, you know that."

"What the hell did he say?" I bark and he blanches.

"I honestly haven't a clue. Es just told me to stop by, keep you company for a bit."

"Well, I appreciate that but it's really not necessary. I'm busy, I'm fine."

"Look, you don't have to be all pissed with me because I'm here to check on you. I'd much rather be out with"-

"That's my point Emmett!" I interrupt shrewdly, my voice shrill in the silence of the store and he stops again, his eyes wide at my loudness.

"I know you'd rather be out with friends or Rosalie or even at home playing video games than babysitting me and I don't even need babysitting! I'm a big girl, you guys don't have to watch over me! I don't need a popsicle, I don't need a shoulder, I don't need it. If anything Em, I feel like I owe you something," to which his interest is piqued and I catch myself mid sentence. I've already said too much.

"What the hell do you owe me?"

"Nothing," I sigh, shaking my head, "forget I said that."

"No, I won't forget it. What do you mean? What do you owe me?" he pushes and steps forward, setting his popsicle clenched fist against the desk.

"I just….I guess Esme was right, it was a rough day with Edward." I look up and see his troubled eyes and it's as if I'm trying to tell him the words with my own. I don't want to say them aloud. Please don't make me say them, Emmett. Please don't make me tell you I saw your father. That my heart broke for you and Edward alike. For Carlisle and a brother he lost and Esme and the broken family she has to help hold together.

And just like that he reads it in my expression and he knows where I've been and what I've seen. His gaze becomes saddened, if just a fraction before he lets out a breath long and slow and rubs his hands over the top of his head, trying to find his thoughts.

"He took you there, huh?" he asks quietly and I can only nod. Because I'm so ashamed I know the secret. Because I've been too self centered to never ask Emmett before this. What kind of a friend am I anyway?

"Well," he sighs, definitively, "at least he made it there finally. Been putting it off all week," and it's more of a thought to himself than me."Emmett…why did you never say anything to me about it? Why is it….why was it a secret?" I can't help but ask and he shrugs in thought.

"What should I have said, Bells? You think you're the only one who feels bad now?" he asks me and I'm suddenly lost in what he's saying.

"You know when you first started working for Carlisle it took you two weeks to smile? Like, really smile in our presence. We had a bet going amongst Esme and me who could make you crack first and it was over that stupid…that stupid potato thing, remember?"

"Baked potato eating contest," I murmur in thought. Emmett's face deep in sour cream and chive, bacon bits stuck to his eyebrows. It was a swell of relief to laugh at something that day. Any day. The first day since I had come to the city. I was just as surprised at it as they were.

"So what would I have said, huh?" he pushes me quietly, neither of us quite meeting the gaze of the other. "You look real sad, chickadee, and you've clearly got problems of your own but let me just throw my orphaned status at ya real quick, if it's not too much trouble?" and I shake my head. Of course not. But that wasn't what I meant.

When I can't think of anything else to say he takes a step forward and places his big, warm hand over my own, finally pulling my face to meet his. His eyes are full of understanding, as if he's consoling me when it should be the other way around.

"I don't know why he took you there today, Bella. I'm the last person to understand my brother and why he does the things that he does. But I do know that every year he comes back and never makes it into that building further than the front desk and a few hello's to the employees. That he hates being in London more than he handle hiding it. And that this week was the first time I saw him smile and should have thought all along to make a bet with Esme on it. Of course it would have been you to make it happen," he grins shyly at me and I roll my eyes at his comment. "Yes, it sucks that he did this to you…whatever it is you've got going on," he admits and I nod my head almost sarcastically. This has been a bit more than 'sucky' if I do say so myself.

"But," he continues, "as much as I can't stand my know-it-all, overachieving, smart ass brother…I love him that much more. I truly believe he won't leave you in the dark for too much longer. If he does…I'll have to kick his ass," he smirks at me and finally I feel a laugh bubble up beneath the tears I haven't realized have formed in the corners of my eyes. I push them away, feeling childish and stupid. Well, you made it a whole four hours without letting him get to you. I guess that's better than you could have hoped for really.

"He leaves in less than a week," I point out and again I'm met with Emmett's indifferent shrug.

"So does Rosalie. If we're meant to figure out, we'll figure it out," he sighs and I nod again. I watch his other hand rise to his mouth and the last of the popsicle disappear behind his lips before he grins at me a bit lopsided, the cold showing against his lips and he gives my hand a little squeeze before heading towards the door.

"Have a good night Bells," he calls to me and I wave a little as he reaches the handle.

"Thanks Emmett, really. Oh and don't…just don't say anything to Edward in case you see him. I'm fine, really. If he wants to talk to me or…tell me more or…leave town, whatever…he can. Just let him decide on his own, ok?" I ask and he pauses for a second, gazing at me hard. I know it's killing him to consider that option. The not kicking Edward's ass for hurting me if it came down to it option. The road where he must mind his own damn business. Finally, short and quick, he nods once.

"But I'll bet he does it on his own anyway Bells, I really do," he tries to smile at me once more and I nod in understanding. If he does or doesn't it really doesn't matter. It's only ever been up to him anyway.

Emmett reaches for the handle and gives a pull, letting the light from the street in his pathway as he does so, the familiar croak of the frog at his feet. I run my hands through my hair, pulling a little at the roots simply because the tension feels great and I allow my eyes to close for just a second. It's odd to adjust to such brightness from the streets after being in here for a few hours. Maybe if Bee got out more the migraines wouldn't occur in the first place. Maybe she's conditioning herself for the darkness. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing to take up…

"Well what do you know?" Emmett calls and I open my eyes a crack, taking in the spots of light of my vision as the dark clashes with light and dust meets sunshine where two looming figure of shadow hover in the doorway. "It's already time to pay up."

I blink once, twice and make out his casual smirk, his slight wave as he pushes past the shadow of Edward waiting hesitantly in the doorway. He takes a small step forward and nods his head at his brother as he does so allowing him to pass. Edward's coat pulled up at his neck to meet his ears, his hair wind blown from the fall air. The breeze he brings in behind him is crisp and for a second I wonder why Emmett had a popsicle in this weather in the first place.

"Hey," I hear his quiet voice call to me as the door shuts behind him. I lift a hand tentatively, letting two fingers bend in acknowledgement before lowering it slowly.

"Hi."

"I don't mean to….to stalk you or anything," he begins, looking around to where we stand. "I know you're working and if you need me to leave, I understand. If you're busy."

I step forward and walk slow, steady steps until I'm approaching where he stands and finally brush past, letting our arms graze one another as I do so before grabbing the stack of books I had before Emmett arrived and turn back to the G's where I came from.

"Not at all," I sigh and keep walking. "It's not exactly that type of job anyway." I look at him over my shoulder and beckon him to follow before smiling softly to myself. "You can google it if you like." I'm my own worst enemy. This man has the power to completely undo me. I know I should run now, the way I ran this afternoon but I can't bring myself to do so. Perhaps, for the first time, I should just stop. See what happens. Hope there's something left to put together when I do unravel after it's all over.


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